


Governed By The Stars

by i_said_goddameron



Series: Empty Sky Between Us [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Poe Dameron (Comics)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Adoption, Alternate Universe - Military, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angsty and Emotional Sex, Dameron-Bey Family Flashbacks, Drama and Romance, F/M, Faith as a Metaphor for The Force, Fertility Issues, Finding Purpose, Heavy Angst, Latinidad, PTSD and Grief, Terrorism, Violence and Blood, childhood illness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-05-28 09:53:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 93,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15046388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_said_goddameron/pseuds/i_said_goddameron
Summary: Poe Dameron was a USAF pilot on an upward trajectory before a cruel twist of fate put him in a nosedive. Heartbreak and grief cast a shadow over his optimistic nature as he works to win back both his wings and the love of his life, a scientist working for the World Health Organization’s epidemiology lab.Escalating violence tests the limits of their marriage when duty calls Poe back to the Middle East. Poe Dameron wants to save the world, but first he needs to piece himself back together.*NSFW Chapters Marked in Titles*Spotify Playlist: https://tinyurl.com/GBTSmusic





	1. Vega and Altair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a minor motorcycle accident lands Poe in the hospital with a collapsed lung and fractured pelvis, he gets a little self-destructive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Soundtrack:
> 
> Littlest Things by Twin Shadow: https://open.spotify.com/track/17yKOKhEsmTYha9IwjrLuG?si=7Broa31xQdOe6Xh1GLf8zQ

Poe fumbled with the lighter, fingers trembling as he leaned against the outside wall of the hospital. The cigarette bobbed between his lips as he mumbled Spanish obscenities under his breath. Second-guessing wasn’t something he usually did, he was used to acting with conviction. Now he wasn’t sure what the right move could possibly be, only that he couldn’t lie down and convalesce when everything in him screamed to get up and fight.

How had everything gone south so quickly? Life hit him with a string of pain, rapidly accumulating one incident on top of the other like a pile of dominoes. Loss on top of loss on top of loss. He couldn’t deal with it- not yet- so he tried to numb himself. So many nightmares. Scraps of a Ducati motorcycle on hot asphalt. The echo of your footsteps. The horizon corkscrewing around his F-16. Poe took a drag and tried to banish the thoughts that plagued his days and nights.

Carefully aware of the mending hip, Poe made his way back to his room gingerly on a pair of elbow crutches. What little pain medication he was on had worn off, and searing pain began to move through his body again- but it didn’t compare to the gash in his soul. He tucked the red and white pack of Marlboros into the pocket of his hoodie and slowly navigated the maze of corridors. Posters for support groups and PTSD treatment options littered the walls of the on-base hospital at Kadena Air Force Base, Japan. He tried not to look at them. 

“You called her again,” Cassian noted when Poe stepped through the doorway. Poe eased himself down onto the bed with Cassian’s help, grimacing when the left side made contact.

Disdain was painted over his sharp features. Cass didn’t have a lot of forgiveness in him, and he wouldn’t be likely to spare much for you. Not after this. Despite his gruff demeanor, Cassian Andor was a protector most of all. And he wanted to protect his friend from more heartache.

“Who the hell smuggled you a pack of cigarettes?” Cassian barked out when the scent hit him. “Was it Bodhi?”

Defensively, Poe’s hands shot into his pocket, fingers wrapping around his phone then the small pack. Cassian wasn’t his commanding officer anymore, yet to Poe it still felt wrong to evade the questions. He didn’t answer.

“You have a collapsed lung, dumbass.”

Jaw set tight, Poe kept his espresso-colored eyes on the mottled tile floor. “Don’t yell at him. Yell at me.”

“Why are you smoking?” Cassian’s Mexican-accented voice softened. “Don’t you want to get outta of this place?”

Poe simply shrugged. The smoking was a small, self-destructive thing. An act of rebellion. And in some small way, it felt good, even though his lungs wheezed and strained. About a year ago, you had insisted he quit, and he had even used nicotine patches to do so- but now that you were gone, every drag was laced with spite. Poe wasn’t a spiteful person, so why did it feel so good to do something that he knew you would hate?

“Sir, I need you to put that O2 monitor back on,” a nurse chided while entering the room. She noticed Poe sitting there despondent, then handed him a plastic spirometer. He was shorter than she had imagined. She had heard about him. They all had. Whispers travelled across the nurse’s station about the pilot who landed a jet after a traumatic brain injury, only to crash his motorcycle after returning from Yemen. Whispers that he wore a wedding band but his wife was only seen on the day he was admitted.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he slipped the monitor around the tip of his left index finger and gripped the hose of the spirometer. Poe blew into it, watching the yellow marker jump upwards with his breath. The nurse returned an unimpressed expression after he tried to sustain the exhale. It was obvious that she knew he’d been sneaking cigarettes, also. Hell, she probably overheard Cassian. And he was wearing his own clothes instead of a thin hospital gown, a dead giveaway that he had slipped out yet again.

She had given her name before, but Poe didn’t bother remembering it. And that wasn’t like him- Poe was the person who greeted strangers with a sincere smile, asked them where they were from. She asked him to remove his hoodie and his shirt, moving behind him to place a stethoscope on the bare skin of his back. Poe took shallow breaths, still recovering from the walk through the labyrinth of the hospital. His lungs strained but he pretended to be unbothered. When she stood facing him to listen to his heart and lungs, Poe watched her blue eyes hover over the gold necklace resting just under his throat. Unthinking, he put a finger over it, feeling the image of St. Joseph in relief. Closing his eyes, he remembered you placing a small velvet pouch into his palm on your wedding day.

_Pulling the drawstring open, Poe’s thick brows furrowed slightly as the small, oval pendant fell into his hand. Stamped into the precious metal was a man in a long robe, leaping into the air gracefully._

_“I thought since I’m taking your mom’s ring, I should replace it with something for your necklace,” you explained, thumb brushing over his knuckles. So gorgeous in that white dress, you gazed at him with pure adoration. No one had ever looked at Poe like that before. “This is Saint Joseph of Cuppertino; he’s the patron saint of aviation. Figure you can use all the help you can get when you’re flying.”_  

Cassian’s voice drew Poe out of the fog of his memory. “Hey. She said you can put your shirt back on.”

Pulling his hoodie over his head, Poe’s reflexes kicked in as his phone slipped from the pocket. He caught it before it fell to the unforgiving floor, and it lit up with the contact. His wallpaper was a picture of you in Tokyo, posing in front of a giant Hello Kitty. Both Cassian and the nurse watched awkwardly as Poe stuffed it back into the pocket, letting out a series of painful coughs.

“I think another few days in here, at least,” the nurse repeated. Crossing her arms, she surveyed the ex-pilot as he tapped his feet on the floor from the edge of the bed. He was just as handsome as her coworkers had mentioned, despite the purple and green-tinted bruises that climbed up the left side of his face like a vine of ivy. Intense eyes, waves of ebony hair, a square chin and jawline that made him look like a model from a recruitment poster. If only he would smile.

Cassian ran his tongue across his teeth as she excused herself, and the two made uneasy eye contact for a few silent moments.

“I’m going home,” Poe finally said.

“Not yet, you aren’t. Didn’t you hear her?”

“Yeah. I am,” Poe shot back. “I’m sick of this place.” Poe wanted to be in the familiar. He wanted the modest apartment filled with memories of your marriage, wanted to hold his dog and be alone. Somewhere he could process the events of the last two weeks in peace.

Cassian shot a scrutinizing expression at his friend. “So you’re leaving... against medical advice?”

Poe Dameron didn’t believe destiny was governed by the stars, immovable and mapped in advance. He believed in action. He wasn’t about to wait around for fate to reunite you. Poe nodded and gathered the crutches, then rose from the bed. He didn’t have anything to lose anymore. He’d lost so much. Everything. But he did need to strategize if he was going to get it back.

“They say you didn’t hit your head when that truck ran into you, but honestly, you’re more stubborn than ever.” Exasperated, Cassian fought back the urge to roll his eyes. For a moment, he found himself grateful that he wasn’t Poe’s commanding officer anymore- then he remembered why. Poe had endured too much heartache lately, and maybe Cass was being unfairly harsh on him.

With resignation, Cassian agreed to drive Poe back to his apartment on-base. They stopped by the apartment he shared with his girlfriend Jyn first, picking up B.B. Poe smiled when the red and white Jack Russell Terrier came bounding toward him, scooping him into his arms. The day you left Okinawa, you droppped the dog off with Jyn. They didn’t mind keeping him, especially since Poe was hospitalized. Jyn had tried to reason with you, appeal to your logical brain as to why you should stay. But your mind was made up, and you left.

“Sure you don’t want some company?” Cassian asked cautiously when they pulled up in front of the apartment. Even though he had just returned from the base at Al Anad, Yemen, the commander knew Poe probably shouldn’t spend much time alone right now considering the circumstances.

”Nah.” Poe ran a hand over his jaw. It was darkened by days without a razor, and he looked forward to taking a shower and shaving in his own bathroom. “I’m good for now. Thank you.”

Lifting off the steering wheel, Cassian rested a hand on Poe’s shoulder. “Anything you need, hermano. Jyn hasn’t heard from her but we’ll let you know if she calls.”

He nodded solemnly. They still couldn’t talk about it, at least not without fighting. Cassian wanted to defend Poe and Poe wanted to defend you. As the door shut, he felt his stomach turn to lead. Part of him almost expected you to be home- angry at him, ignoring his calls and voicemails, but home nonetheless- and he was almost surprised to find the apartment stale and lifeless. No music drifting softly from the bedroom, no hiss of the shower, no mumble of acknowledgement as he rested B.B.'s leash and harness on the hook. Just silence, crushing and eerie. B.B. trotted ahead toward the kitchen and looked expectantly at his master. Poe leaned against the counter, shifting his weight onto his right side as he let go of the crutch to reach into a cabinet. Retrieving a box of Milkbones, he looked around the home and realized exactly why Cass looked so hesitant to leave him alone.

A set of matching helmets sat on a shelf by the door. Both black, with wide, off-center red racing stripes. Poe’s hazelnut eyes began to mist as memories of you pummeled his mind. 

*

_Encircling his stomach, you squeezed Poe even tighter when he shifted the Ducati into third gear. Every time the engine roared louder, you did this, and it deepened the parenthesis around his mouth when he grinned in response._

_“It’s okay, Corazón. I won’t let anything happen,” he reassured over his shoulder as you gripped him. “Trust me.”_

_Rows of palm trees swayed in the sea breeze on either side of the street, picturesque. It was the perfect day for a ride and Poe was so grateful you agreed to it. He knew you were terrified of motorcycles, yet you went for rides with him._ _It was touching that you wanted to share this, to understand the exhilaration he felt between the hum of the motor and the wind against his face. He wanted to share everything with you._

_When the Ducati came to a stop in front of La Teresita, his favorite Cuban restaurant, you let out a sigh of relief that didn’t go unnoticed. Poe could feel the tremble in your legs as he turned off the engine and understood exactly how anxious being on two wheels made you. "You're gonna love this place. It's not as good as my Aunt Leia's but I'm a little biased. Anyway. They make a mean Rabo Encendido."  
_

_“I do trust you... You know that, right?” Pulling off the black and red helmet, you shook out your hair in the parking lot. ”But you are getting me out of my comfort zone, that’s for sure.”_

_“I think we complement each other well,” Poe answered. His curls were a mess, flattened against his skull, and he quickly ran a hand through them to revive his look._

_“Like salt and pepper.”_

_A lopsided smile lifted Poe’s face. “You’ve been thinking about that, huh? When I got you that helmet, you told me it made you feel like we’re a matching set of salt and pepper shakers.”_

_”Come on, you have to admit it’s a little cheesy that they match!” You let out a laugh and clasped onto his hand. “But I love it. You’re the sweetest.”_

_”You’re so the salt in this relationship,” Poe muttered jokingly as he opened the door. "And I hope you're still gonna trust me after I tell you what's in that stew."  
_

*

Missing you was different now. You’d been separated by geography twice before, once during this undergraduate pilot training then again when he was deployed with the 44th squadron. Always where he had his own small space. Poe had never missed you while surrounded by relics of your relationship. A bracelet left on the dresser, the couch where you would spoon and listen to vinyl records on lazy afternoons, the collection of houseplants already starting to wither without your attention. Poe found that you were simultaneously absent from his life, yet also in every inch of it.

The letter you wrote him when he was in Al Anad was still sitting on the coffee table. And that box of Plan B. It turned his stomach to think that you had been taking it behind his back when you seemed to enthusiastic about trying to conceive again. Poe knew you were scared to be pregnant again, but that was no reason to lie. It’s not like he would force you to have a baby before you were ready. He folded the letter back up and stuffed it into a large Manila folder that held the letters you sent during his deployment. When he returned to the living room, that blue and white box was still waiting. Like a land mine, Poe was afraid to touch it. Touching it again would confirm that it was real, that he had actually found it while looking for hand soap under the sink. Picking it up would confirm it was indeed empty, that you had taken the dose. He didn’t want any of this to be real. Part of him was still hoping this was all just another nightmare. God knows he’d had plenty of those lately.

Finally, he dipped forward and snatched it from the low table and to the kitchen. Holding it over the trash can, he crumpled it in his fist then lost his grip. Falling to the floor, he let out a yelp, mouth contorting in emotion and pain as the crutches clamored against the tile. Shoulders rounding, curling in as if they could connect and protect his bruised heart, Poe wept.

Everything he wanted to be was being taken from him. Fighter pilot. Husband. Father. Now he wasn’t sure if he would be your husband for much longer, or if he would ever become a father if you stayed together. He and his wife wanted different things, so different that reconciliation may not be possible. How does one compromise when it comes to parenthood?

On the cool floor of the kitchen, Poe felt a tsunami of pain crash over him, and he allowed himself to be swept away by it. He shook, he cried, he slammed the edge of his fist against the tile. It hurt to cry, his lungs straining with the pressure, and yet he desperately wanted another cigarette. Against his better judgement, he reached into the pouch pocket of his hoodie and lit up. Poe laid out flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling as he savored the drag. Moisture collected in the dip under his deep-set eyes and he blinked it away, down the corners that usually sported laugh lines.

He felt himself begin to slip away. Not that metallic tongued, fuzzy-edged slipping that preceded the seizures. This was the slipping away that his therapist warned him about, where his hands felt like wax and everything became two-dimensional. Which was fine. Poe Dameron wasn’t really Poe Dameron anymore, anyway. Who was he if not a fighter pilot? Who was he if not your husband? Who was this man- this fool- crying on the kitchen floor over his marriage? Crying over the fact that he’d wrecked his motorcycle? Poe wondered if he was destined to break everything he loved.

Drifting away, he felt B.B. lick softly at the back of his hand. That wax hand, controlled by him yet somehow not a part of him. He remained motionless, save for another inhalation that sent sharp branches of pain through his lung. Fuck. He really shouldn’t be smoking.

——-

After days of calling you with no answer, days of absentmindedly strumming the guitar, days of choking down pain medication, Poe realized he desperately needed to get out of the house. Fractured pelvis be damned. He decided to get out of Kadena too, for good measure. So Poe fit B.B. into his tangerine-colored harness, tossed his crutches into the hatchback and drove into Okinawa.

Driving aimlessly for a while, he rolled down the windows and cranked up some music. The terrier enjoyed feeling the wind in his face, leaning on the car door to get a better view of the sights though the open window. When he noticed a park transformed by colorful hangings from the trees, he slowed. People were everywhere, booths scattered around with food and he noticed rows of bamboo, each carrying some sort of hanging decoration that twirled in the breeze. It seemed good a place as any to walk around to get his mind off things.

Poe wandered through the street festival, past children who ran ahead of their parents, eagerly holding bright strips of paper. They each tied their papers to bamboo branches with strings, and beamed with pride. Lanterns hung over sidewalks, trailing long ribbons.

You would love this, he thought as he stepped slowly and deliberately down the pavement. Some steps caused him to suck in a quick wince, suddenly aware again of the hairline fracture running through his left hip even though he made use of the crutches.

He and B.B. followed the scent of food, and a smile actually crossed his face when he realized it was takoyaki. Anthropomorphic octopus babies with giant, glistening eyes were printed on the vendor’s sign. Poe would never understand why the Japanese insisted on making everything look so cute- even going so far as to make the food you eat look adorable- and he almost felt guilty for a moment before decided to get in line to order some. Why was a drawing of an octopus making him feel guilty?

Then he remembered the first time he tried takoyaki, in Tokyo. The same trip when he stupidly decided to ask if you wanted to try for a baby. Yeah, it wasn’t the cute octopus sign making him feel guilty. It was his naivety, his optimism. That was nearly a year ago, now. Things were so simple then, before his deployment. Before the epilepsy. Before he fought for a purpose beyond flying. Before he pushed you so hard that you ran. He took his paper tray of fried octopus balls and found a bench overlooking a performance of two dancers on stilts. He leaned the crutches on the bench and relished the savory taste after weeks of bland hospital fare. As he ate, he watched the couple sway and stretch their arms toward each other, only to be separated by another performer, who drew blue ribbons between them. The woman began to weep, and the man reached out to comfort her. The distance was too great.

Nearby, a group of college-age kids posed for a photo in front of the lanterns, but couldn’t seem to fit all in the shot. A girl approached Poe, smiling down at B.B. before she motioned with her phone for him to take a picture of them. She spoke in Japanese, with a shy smile as she gave the terrier a light pat on the head. Poe nodded and apologized for the language barrier as he took it.

“You’re an American,” a boy in the group cut in.

“Yeah, Air Force. Umm… Can you please tell me a little about this?” Poe pointed vaguely around him, to the dancers and the lanterns and the paper rectangles hanging from the bamboo plants.

“Tanabata. It’s the Star Festival,” he replied. The group of friends offered a small bow of thanks to Poe for taking the photo and he returned the gesture. Poe took out his phone and searched it. Tanabata was a celebration of a fable, a tragic love story of a couple separated, destined to only meet once a year. Fuck if that didn’t feel familiar. He tore the last ball of takoyaki in two, popping one half into his mouth before offering the rest on his outstretched palm for B.B.

Reading on, he learned the couple was represented by the stars Vega and Altair, separated by the Milky Way in the night sky. He knew them. His mother, Shara, had pointed them out to him as a child through the telescope she gave him as a 7th birthday present. During July, these stars burned the brightest. How interesting that the festival was held on the 7th day of the 7th month, then. Poe was always comforted by coincidences, or rather he didn’t see them as coincidences but signs. He’d always felt like watching the stars brought him closer to her, wherever her soul might be now. Maybe this was a sign.

People lined the sidewalks where the bamboo shoots rose up, writing wishes to the stars on those colorful strips of paper. Poe fished a lighter out of his jeans and lit up, remembering how you would stargaze together with his father’s old binoculars. He’d have to tell you about it, he thought, point out Vega and Altair flanking the spiraling arms of gas and dust of the galaxy.

You were Vega, he was Altair. The Pacific Ocean was your Milky Way.

Smoke burned through his airways and he drew in a shaky gasp of pain. Poe stamped the cigarette out on the sole of his boot and rose to his feet, shifting his weight off his left side with his crutches.

Rapping a pen on his chin for a moment, he thought about what to write on the strip of blue paper. A rainbow of papers lifted in the breeze, and he stared at the wishes of others, written in Kanji. Wishes of children for toys or good grades. Wishes of adults for promotions or proposals. Wishes of elderly for health and peace. Of course, there was a lot Poe wished for. He had lost so much, so soon. Poe finally scrawled on the paper and tied it to a branch awkwardly. He clicked his tongue to get B.B.’s attention and they made their way back to the car.

There, fluttering among the sea of papers was one written in English, letters meticulously formed:

I wish for my Everything back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where do you think Corazón is?
> 
> How do you think Cassian will help Poe get his life back on track in upcoming chapters?
> 
> Comment and let me know what you think!


	2. Missing In Action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian tries to support Poe as a new pilot arrives as his replacement in the 44th squadron. Meanwhile, you try to find a way to reconcile your love for Poe with your professional calling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Warning: use of a racial slur.**
> 
> Chapter Soundtrack:
> 
> The Trick Is To Keep Breathing by Garbage: https://open.spotify.com/track/5Vtcx6FFW7B6CUUXrldSKZ?si=cNeWcTh3Sf-OpecYN_yZYw

 

Mi corazón, mi amor. _My heart, my love_.

Poe started calling you Spanish pet names long before you moved in together. Later he dropped the possessive modifier and referred to you as simply Corazón or Amor, as if it was your name. He decided to begin the letter this way. Taking a drag, he leaned forward and uncapped the ballpoint pen he’d been rolling back and forth against the surface of the coffee table.

“I’m not giving up on you,” he scrawled, “you’re still my everything.”

When he finished, Poe folded the paper into thirds and loaded it into an envelope carefully before laying it down with the others. Three identical versions of the letter were made. One was headed to Tampa, one to Gainesville, one to San Francisco. He hoped you would be at one of those places, receive his letter and finally call him back. He needed to hear your voice, a salve on the wounds that decorated his body and his heart after the accident.

It simply wasn’t in his constitution to give up. When calls and texts went unanswered, he began to send emails and now physical letters, a throwback to a time when he was deployed overseas. Poe didn't see love as a possession. One can never possess the person they love, and of course not love itself. And Poe didn’t want to possess or confine you; he saw love as a conversation, and wondered why you went silent.

Taking a shot of Patrón, he settled back down on the couch and reached for his black, acoustic Gibson. The frets were familiar under his fingers, comfortable and worn with time. He didn’t want to think about the songs he wrote for you, nor the Skype serenades he played not so long ago. The Pacific Ocean lay between him and the person he loved the most. Vast, cold and powerful. You were somewhere stateside, while he was stationed at Kadena. So Poe sang about the sea. He sang about the sky. He sang about a distance measured best in heartbreak and not in nautical miles. He couldn’t sing about your clandestine love yet.

Gently rapping his knuckles on the door, Cassian blew a stream of air through pursed lips. Now that Poe’s wings were clipped and the seizures had all but stopped, he was cleared to return to his previous job as a developmental engineer. That meant Cass was no longer his CO, but even that relationship had never stopped the two from being close. In fact, even Cassian’s longtime girlfriend Jyn was your most trusted friend at Kadena. He rubbed a hand over his angular jaw and decided to make use of the spare key you’d given her.

“Poe? It’s Cass...” he shouted into the cracked doorway as B.B. dashed over to greet him. “I’m coming in, don’t shoot me.”

“Sorry man.” Poe offered a half-hearted smile and gestured to his hip as Cassian entered the dark apartment. “It still hurts to get up quickly.”

Completely faded now, the bruises on Poe’s face from the accident had healed, but Cassian guessed he had been wearing that shirt for at least three days. He also noticed the smell of alcohol on his friend when he pat him on the back, and the fact that the curtains were drawn despite it being a pleasant day. “You, uh, look good.”

“Getting stronger,” Poe replied as he tried to stifle another coughing fit. Everytime one struck, his lungs screamed out and his ribs felt like eggshells. He could hear concern in Cassian’s tone and he knew he looked like shit. “Not looking forward to my new job Monday. It’s weird not being with—“

Jagged coughs broke from Poe’s mouth, and Cassian reached forward to pluck the cigarette from it. Gripping Cassian’s wrist, Poe stopped him, eyes alight with wordless indignation.

“Really think hurting yourself is gonna bring your wife back?“

Unmoving, Poe stood rigidly, fingers still tense around Cassian’s slim wrist. His eyes fell on the bookcase, to the row of ceramic vases and bowls you threw during his deployment. So much energy and love went into each piece of pottery, and it was easy to see the rapid progression of your skill when your work was lined up like that. They were beautiful and imperfect like your smile. Smooth like your legs. He wanted to smash every one of them.

Poe didn’t really want to talk about this, but in some way he was grateful Cass had acknowledged the elephant in the room. He released his friend’s wrist and snuffed the cigarette out. Carefully, Poe lowered himself back down onto the sidechair and B.B. climbed into his lap.

Cassian sighed and plopped onto the couch next to the guitar, absentmindedly plucking at random strings as he spoke. "Have you heard any news from her? An update, an explanation? Anything?"

Pulling his legs up in a folded position on the chair, Poe tried to avoid Cassian's face. Avoidance was a new skill he was perfecting, pretending like he didn't notice the wedding photo on the wall in the living room or those little pieces of you scattered around the apartment. Poe gestured to the letters fanned out on the table in front of them, "Nothing yet. I bet she's in San Francisco, though."

"Why?”

"It's the shortest trip and her godfather lives there. She’s closest to him out of everyone in her family- I doubt she’s even spoken to her actual dad recently." Poe still had that far away look in his eyes, and it hurt Cassian to see his friend- the vibrant, affable jokester of the group- transformed into someone he barely recognized, save for that stubborn streak.

"What’s wrong with her? I can't believe she decided to leave like this. Who leaves their spouse when they're in the hospital?!"

“I’m getting her back, you’ll see. As soon as we talk, we’ll be okay.”

Cassian nodded, not sure how to respond. Poe was like an overgrown Labrador. Eternally loyal, foolishly optimistic, but smart. He was a lot smarter than his trusting nature suggested.

“She needs to tell you where she is, at least, but I’m sure she’s safe. Not so sure we can say the same about you if you keep smoking those things. You need to stop unless you wanna end up back in that hospital.”

Grumbling, Poe shrugged. Just because Cass was right didn’t mean he was ready to acknowledge it. Even though his lungs hurt more now than they did the day he checked himself out.

“So, the new guy in the squadron arrived. We’re taking him out this weekend, same place we took you.”

A scowl crossed Poe’s face at the invitation. He didn’t want to celebrate his replacement. Of course Poe knew his position would be filled, but he didn’t realize how much it would hurt to think about someone else in his team permanently.

One of Poe’s proudest moments was the day ‘his’ F-16 was painted with Captain Poe Dameron in script just under the canopy opening. He wished his parents could have seen that. Even his mother, who had flown cargo planes in the early ‘90s, didn’t have that honor. It was symbolic in nature, of course, and the plane he actually flew on missions around the Pacific Theatre just depended on what had passed inspections that day. He was sure those letters had been scraped off by a maintenance worker three months ago, and felt about as used up and worthless as those outdated chips of paint. Now it was truly official that he was replaced in the 44th fighter squadron, and as such it would be their name now.

Even though the rest of the 44th had returned from their temporary tour of duty, Poe still hadn’t shed his guilt. Having been sent home ahead of them due to his injury, Poe carried it heavy in his abdomen like a bowling ball. He was supposed to be alongside his team, and worried about them being a man down. When the squadron returned to Kadena, he felt relief that they were out of direct danger, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel joy. He should have felt joy, taken the team out to celebrate. But life was in greyscale now, in the aftermath of the accident and the sudden hole in his life where you should have been.

“Whoa. Okay. Too soon?” Cassian’s flat palms shot up on either side of his face defensively. “Look, we all wanna see you. You’re still one of us.”

”Not anymore.” Poe turned his attention back to the bottle of Patrón on the coffee table but didn’t move toward it. This conversation couldn’t be over fast enough.

“You know you are. And we’re not gonna let you waste away here. Take a shower; You’re riding with Jyn and I- and I don’t want you stinking up our car.”

 ——

Clutching your purse strap like the harness of a parachute, you exited the elevator after the job interview. If Poe was there, he'd be giving you a pep talk. He'd convince you that you did great, that your answers were eloquent and thoughtful, and that you didn't shred professionalism to bits by accidentally peppering in 'um' or 'like' too many times. Poe would squeeze your hand, conviction in his voice as he told you that you deserved the job. But he wasn't there.

After waiting at the bus stop a few minutes, you swiped your pass on the MUNI, staring at the retro red and white logo blankly as it carried you to the park. It was close enough to the building, and you had time to kill anyway. Golden Gate Park was a welcoming stretch of green amid the concrete of the city. Coming to a stop, you noticed a sign marked Japanese Tea Garden and got off. Japan. Of course you'd end up in a city that mirrored Japan, little pockets of culture or cuisine tucked into the foggy landscape. You weren't sure why you got off the bus there- you didn't even really care for tea or formal gardens, but you handed over the price of admission and wandered in.

The Japan you’d left didn't look like this. This was all lovely pagodas and gracefully arched bridges over koi-filled streams. The Japan you had left was filled with thunderous boots of Airmen and American junk food in the commissary. Okinawa itself was nice when you traveled off-base, but even it didn't look like this manicured vision. Sighing, you took a seat on a red lacquer bench in the meditation garden and tried to recenter. This was a beautiful place, bamboo whispering gently with the breeze, but you couldn’t bring yourself to appreciate it. It was too painful. You shouldn’t be in San Francisco at all. You knew it was wrong, but it was already in motion. Memories came in poignant flashes, reminders of regret.

Tears welling at the edges of Poe’s heavy-lidded eyes as he pressed a kiss over the faded scar from your ectopic pregnancy.

Mingled sweat and sand and salt in the flattened backseat of the car, on the moonlit beach in Okinawa. The noise he made- halfway between a sigh and a moan- when he spilled into you, looking into your face like it was the answer to any question he could ever possibly have. 

The embarrassed flush in Poe’s cheeks when he told his Aunt Leia and Uncle Han you were trying to conceive after being caught getting frisky on the dresser of their guest room. 

Chirping birds and the murmur of guests at the garden drew you back from the painful memory. Sipping a cup of jasmine tea, you watched a young couple meander through the garden, a chubby baby strapped to the father’s chest in a carrier. The baby cooed up at him as he pointed out the birds on the branches of the cherry trees and continued a conversation with his partner.

Had the pregnancy not been ectopic, you and Poe would have a daughter. Turning away, you tried to stuff that pain deeper down.

Poe would be an excellent father. You were unsure if you could be a decent mother, the product of an absentee father and a mother who was currently missing somewhere. Maybe you were more like your parents than you cared to admit. You were Missing In Action now. Maybe Poe’s bitter words were true, that you were bound to walk away from him when things got tough... the way they walked away from you. It stung. Too close to home, that broken place you ran from. And just like you ran from that broken home as soon as you turned 18, now you were running from the person you cared about most. Terrified that becoming a mother would mean the death of your grand dreams, eventually growing into resentment against him. As much as your arms craved a baby with the same thick black curls as Poe, you couldn’t do it. Not yet. Not before you had even started.

Even from the beginning, the ambition you shared drew you to Poe, more than his dazzling grin. You understood his drive to fly; he understood your drive to work in a research lab. Poe ascended through Undergraduate Pilot Training with honors as you finished your Master's degree in biochemistry. Hand in hand, you could make the world a better, safer place. Cautious only at first, Poe was the one who first exposed his heart to you in earnest. Mystified at times, he had never been with someone so methodical, and you had never been with someone so honest with their past, their dreams, their emotions. Invasive almost in its intimacy, you grew together like two crepe myrtles with interlocking roots. Loving Poe was a lesson in trust. And you broke that trust.

Buzzing from your lap, the phone came to life. Heart racing, you knew who it was. The contact photo for Poe illuminated the screen, his expression bright as he strummed his acoustic guitar. He was calling again. Third time today. You watched the screen silently as the phone buzzed, until it went still and dark again when Poe hung up.

Regret filled you like a stack of heavy rocks in your chest every time you let his call simply rang. Your voicemail would be full soon, but you couldn’t bring yourself to listen to the warm timbre of his voice. You couldn’t bear to speak to him.

Not after leaving him like that.

Poe deserved better, someone who could give him the white picket fence life he deserved. You didn’t know if he could ever be truly happy without it. When Poe wanted something, it consumed him. Now he wanted to talk. Or yell. Or cry. Any combination of that would even valid, given what he had been through. Somehow Poe managed to cheat death twice over- but he didn’t come out unscathed. You should have been a widow, but thankfully fate had other plans. 

Another soft vibration came from your phone when Poe finished recording his voicemail message. You were afraid of what he could possibly be saying. Either he was forsaking you as you did to him, or attempting to win you back. It stayed with the others, unheard, gathering digital dust.

As the sun began to set, you stepped off the curb at the bus stop. The MUNI had brought you from the park back to the North Beach neighborhood. Italian trattorias and delis were scattered around the area, the Earthiness of pesto hanging in the air as you walked past eager tourists seated at tables with checkered tablecloths. Down two more blocks, up a driveway with a steep grade where a Range Rover was parked in front of a handsome home. Your key opened the lock and you slipped your heels off at the door. 

“Hey, darlin’.” Lando crooned. He always seemed to croon, even when he didn’t mean to, that was just the nature of his voice. To say your godfather was a smooth-talker would be a gross understatement. Although he was now in his early sixties, Lando Calrissian still maintained his dashing looks and sense of style. You simply couldn't imagine him any other way. “How’d the interview go?”

“Really well.” Settling down on a chair after you’d washed your hands, you poured yourself a glass of tea. “They need someone immediately for a project overseas. Have for a while. And I'm more than qualified for the position; detection and containment of biological agents was the subject of my thesis at USF."

”Where overseas?”

”It's classified for now. But I’m in the running with two other candidates.”

“You can stay here as long as you need to, I'm serious about that,” Lando assured. Fiddling with the collar on his silk button-down, he decided to breach the subject you both had been thinking of all day. "So... Have you talked to Poe yet?”

Your husband's name had the impact of a crowbar ripping into a car windshield. You missed the little off-center part in his hairline. The way he dipped his toast into warm cafe con leche so carefully. The leather smell of his jacket filling your senses when he held you close. 

”No. Jyn told me he checked himself out of the hospital, against medical advice.”

Lando drew a sharp, disapproving wince between closed teeth as you skewered a tomato wedge with your fork. “He’s a stubborn one.”

”He never did stuff like this before the accident. He wasn’t reckless, he just liked to be a little daring.”

”They say that’s a symptom of PTSD, total disregard for one’s own safety.”

”But he was regarding his own safety, when I was there. He wasn’t driving because of the seizures. And I know the witness said the driver ran a stop sign but Poe is still at fault. He knew he should never have gotten on that bike. I ran after him, screaming. Screaming, Lando. He was just so mad at me, he didn’t care anymore.”

Lando’s thoughts milled around for a moment before he spoke. Smearing a slice of bread across a saucer of olive oil, he looked into your eyes. “He needs you. You’re what grounds him. You need each other.”

”He needs someone to start a family with, and I don’t know if that can be me.”

”You know what? I was thinking about this whole family thing... how he wanted to start trying for a baby right away after his brain injury.”

Nodding, you lifted the glass of iced tea to your lips again. 

“What if,” Lando ventured, “Poe was scared. Convinced you would leave him? So he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t- subconsciously, of course.” 

”Oh my God...” You mumbled as your stomach dropped. Suddenly the plate of manicotti in front of you lost all its former appeal. Poe had confided his feelings about inadequacy, loss of his identity if he was no longer a pilot, loss of his masculinity in some way. He had never hinted that he was scared of losing you after the accident that claimed his wings, but it made sense. And the very thing Poe hoped would keep you together was the thing that made you feel trapped. Like a bird making a break for it as soon as the cage was opened, you flew across the ocean.

“Are... Are you okay, darlin’? You don’t look so good.”

“Ummmm, I need to think about this," you mumbled, heading into the guest room clutching the phone filled with Poe's messages and voicemails.

——

 “Kamikazes! All around!” Cassian raised a fist into the air as he entered the bar. The rest of the squad cheered at their tradition of welcoming a new member with a signature drink that was so politically incorrect in Japan.

Poe limped in slowly behind Jyn, who had seen this spectacle enough times to know she wasn’t going to hang around. Drinks, karaoke, someone vomiting. It was all in the name of morale-building, supposedly, but Cassian always took it a little too far with his good intentions. Poe remembered well, getting propped up by Bodhi. Belting out exaggerated, heartfelt renditions of ‘80s pop ballads with an arm around Cass. The commander’s voice was like a walrus mating call he but always went on stage anyway, never expecting his team to do anything he wasn’t willing to do. 

“Son of a bitch,” Poe mumbled when his eyes met his replacement. Armitage Hux. 

Leaning against the bar, snapping his elongated fingers at the bartender was a gaunt man. Fiery red hair to match his quick temper kept falling into his face, and he flicked his head back again as he caught a view of Poe. Hux’s eyes narrowed and he let out an amused huff at the ex-pilot’s limp.

“Dameron,” he regarded cooly as he turned back to the bar. Poe was just as short as Hux remembered. “I’ve heard stories about your little adventures.”

During Undergraduate Pilot Training, Hux and Poe hadn’t exactly been rivals, but weren’t on the best of terms either. Poe tried to let the comment roll off his back, and extended his hand as a sign of good faith.  “Hey Hugs, welcome to Kadena.”

“I wonder if the karaoke place can do a John Mayer song for you.” 

Poe’s pulse thumped in his neck. Years later, this idiot still wouldn’t let that nickname go. It wasn’t even funny or original- when they started UPT together, Poe was playing guitar at a small mixer. His voice was warm and confident, he had dark hair and good looks. Hux couldn’t stand him, and somehow branded him as ‘John Mayer’ for the rest of the program. 

“Ahhh. Still as charming as a spoonful of unflavored cough syrup, I see.” 

Bodhi interrupted the exchange with an arm around Poe’s neck. He leaned into his former squadmate and patted the stool next to him. Hux  turned away sharply and the two shared a brief moment of mutual confusion before they decided to mind their own business. Bodhi ordered two Coronas, remembering Poe’s fondness for the brew. “I’m glad to see you up and about.”

”Thanks, I’m really freaking out about starting back in engineering though. Like an office job is going to be especially miserable after being in a cockpit.”

”You’ll find a way to make the best of out of it. Can’t hold you down for long, that’s for sure.” Bodhi smiled as Cassian waved them over to the shared table just past a dartboard. He nodded for Poe to go ahead and excused himself to the restroom. 

As Poe approached the table from behind Hux, he overheard chopped bits of conversation. “I’m just saying, I thought they had more sense than that—“

He furrowed his brows. 

Gesturing toward the bathroom, Hux looked at another man seated at the bar with a chilling seriousness. “That camel jockey. I wouldn’t trust him. I’m surprised he was able to enlist at all.”

“Rook’s a good guy. I’m happy to vouch for him,” Poe butt in defensively when he realized what was happening. 

“No one asked you, Brain Damage,” Hux spat out.

”And no one asked you to be an asshole,” Poe spoke up louder now. “Rook paid his dues just like everyone else. Moreso than most, in fact, because of ignorant pricks like you. Not to mention his service in Yemen... What have you been doing the last 10 months?”

Hux was dramatically taller than Poe, slim but still imposing. Sliding off the stool, he stepped toward Poe, so close their bodies were almost touching. Poe’s right hand trembled, furious that his friend was the target of such bias. For a moment it crossed his mind to slam Hux’s smug face into the glossy bar top. 

”Listen here you fucking—“

“Hey! Hey!” Cassian thrust himself between the two. “What the Hell is going on here?”

“Your washed-up pilot here thinks it’s fine to insult me,” Hux sneered.

Poe’s nostrils flared. It took all his willpower to control the shaking fist at his side. “And this prick is insinuating that one of our finest pilots is some sort of saboteur just because his family is Iranian.”

Cassian’s eyes widened. Bodhi Rook had been a part of the 44th squadron for years. Trusted, dedicated, a true friend. Now this newcomer had the audacity to come in and immediately be suspicious of his intentions.

”He shouldn’t even be here!” Hux roared. “You shouldn’t either, since you scrambled your brain. Go limp home, Dameron.”

Emerging from the restroom, Bodhi stopped in his tracks when he realized how many sets of eyes were on him. Poe and Hux were facing off with Cassian’s wiry form between them. Bodhi’s ears burned as he realized the source of the tension was his heritage.

Cassian took a deep breath in, mustering every bit of diplomacy in his body. His eyes flicked to Bodhi and immediately he felt a spark of protective energy ignite within. Cassian wanted to hit Hux just as much as Poe did. “Stand down, Lieutenant.”

”Me?! He’s the one who—“

”Rook has proven himself time and time again,” Poe bit out through a clenched jaw. “And all you’ve proven is your ability to be an absolute jackass.”

”Captain Dameron, you stand down too.”

Incredulous, Poe’s mouth fell open slightly. How could Cass possibly be neutral about this? He knew people could be awful, choosing to make hateful generalizations that had nothing to do with the individual; growing up a second-generation kid in the Deep South taught him that. “Yes, Commander.”

Cassian understood that too, but he also carried a responsibility to keep his squadron intact. More than just a peaceful work environment, a bonded team meant added safety during missions. It was crucial to foster harmony. “Rook is a valued member of the squadron, Lieutenant. I’ll not have you question his loyalty.”

Tilting his chin up, Hux looked down his nose at Poe, then turned his icy gaze to Cassian. “Understood, Commander.”

Turning away, Poe quickly gulped down the entirety of his Corona and dug a few bills out of his pocket to cover it and Bodhi’s bottle. He didn’t want Bodhi to pay, not after this. Poe nodded to his friend from across the room after he laid the cash and empty bottle on the counter.

“I knew shouldn’t have come out, Cass,” Poe muttered as he carefully made his way to the door. Cassian didn’t move to stop him, he only offered an apologetic look when their eyes met. “Thanks anyway.”

From the table, Jyn responded with a weak smile and lifted her hand in a small wave goodbye as Poe pushed the door open. It would be a decent walk with his healing hip, but Poe wasn’t about to call anyone for a ride. He resisted the urge to light up, and threw the pack of cigarettes into the trash by the bar entrance. 

The night was clear, an indigo sky above Okinawa perfect for stargazing. Poe quickly identified the pair of stars he had been thinking about lately, Vega and Altair, as well as Venus and Polaris. As he walked slowly across the base, his gaze was drawn to them. Poe pulled his phone from his back pocket to check the time and nearly dropped the device when he saw a notification with your name. Heart racing, he opened the single text message.

”I’m safe. I love you so much. But I’m not ready to come back. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for it all. ”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you make of the text message? 
> 
> Do you think Corazón is reaching out because she’s ready to talk?


	3. The Story of Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian has some news for Poe, while Lando encourages you to confront some difficult aspects of the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Soundtrack:
> 
> Skyful of Song by Florence + The Machine: https://open.spotify.com/track/64fzn2ewOdSH57wrxTPGov?si=v0-iVkKHS6CqRfZOORPvdw

Three Years Earlier 

_”Fortunately for us... yes,” Finn replied. The neon sign above the booth cast a blue glow against his rich brown skin. Finn held his bottle aloft and nodded to Poe at the bar. “Once he has an idea in his head, he doesn’t quit. Seriously.”_

_”He’s almost as stubborn as I am,” you laughed. Rey shrugged. She couldn’t quite put her finger on the compatibility she sensed between you and Poe until that moment. There it was, so obvious. You were two_ stubborn _fools with big dreams and big hearts._

_Your boyfriend strode back to the booth and wrapped his arms around you as he slid in. He was beaming, but only tipsy. Although this place was a strange little country-Western bar in the middle of downtown, he did have to admit it made him feel nostalgic. Maybe it was the music, an old Brooks and Dunn track playing that Uncle Han and Kes used to crank up in the garage on humid summer nights to drown out the screech of cicadas._

_“Almost my turn!” Poe quickly finished his Corona before stretched his arms overhead. “I don’t wanna pull anything.”_

_”Luckily the ER is 2 minutes away,” Finn laughed and shook his head in disbelief that Poe would actually want to ride a mechanical bull at all. He figured Poe was trying to impress you, and he wasn’t wrong. You all gathered around it and the rest of the bar’s patrons followed. People squeezed in a tight semicircle shape as they jockeyed for position._

_Rey dug out her phone and started recording. With an embarrassed grin, you covered your face and she directed it at Poe, who was getting situated by straddling the awkward, barrel-shaped contraption with a rubber bull’s head at the end. He blew a kiss to you before the announcer began the countdown and Rey muttered, “Oi, this guy’s got it bad.”_

_With a snap, the bull came to life under Poe. He gripped the rope and kept the other hand in the air, trying to concentrate. He was a country boy at heart- born and raised in Valdosta, Georgia- but that didn’t mean he was a bull rider. Poe had experience with horses and camping, he’d never been to a rodeo. Now he wished he had at least once._

_Flailing, he grit his teeth and hung on like his dignity depended on it as the machine under him bucked and swiveled. Eight seconds. It wasn’t that long. Poe’s thoughts were a jagged stream of consciousness, detouring with each sudden jerk._

_Shi— This is harder than it— Shit!_

_Ooof, I’m gonna feel that tom—_

_She must think I’m an idiot. She’s ri—_

_The erratic movements of the mechanical bull slowed and the bar erupted into applause. Realizing he’d actually done it, Poe threw both arms overhead victoriously and let out a howl._

_Instinctively, a hand darted to his clavicle to assure his mother’s wedding band was still on the thin chain. Breathing a sigh of relief, Poe rushed over on wobbly legs and brought both hands to your face. He smothered you in a fiery, adrenaline-fueled kiss._

_“My thrill seeker,” you giggled, pressing into Poe’s forehead._

_“My brilliant scientist.”_

_”My goofball.”_

_”My...” Poe hesitated. Riding that ridiculous contraption rattled something loose and he wasn’t sure if he should say it aloud. Not yet. Your fingertips twirled curls of hair at the nape of his neck and Poe never wanted you to stop, never wanted your hands to leave his body. He never wanted to be apart._

_Leaning into him, you responded in a stage whisper, “This doesn’t work unless we go back and forth.”_

_”My... My everything.”_

_Poe’s heart surged in terror and exhilaration. It meant something powerful, all-encompassing in his life. His gaze softened, nose brushing against yours._

_“You’re_ my _everything,” you repeated back, yanking him closer, “you bull riding dumbass.”_

——

Present Day

Jyn opted for a glass of orange juice but Cassian sipped cafe con leche from a mug you made. Cherry blossoms wrapped around the base, and it looked extra delicate in Cassian’s rough hands. Poe stared at the juxtaposition.

“Never say never,” Cassian insisted, “I told them you’re the best aerobatic pilot I’ve ever seen. If there’s any way to get back in the air, it needs to happen. That’s where you belong.”

Jyn tucked a ribbon of deep brunette hair behind her ear. She and Cassian chose to give Poe the news over breakfast before he found out from anyone else. Cass would be upset if he knew you were communicating with Jyn about Poe, receiving updates about his life from a distance. You never told her where you were; that was the agreement. Jyn wanted to honor that, although it practically ripped her apart at the seams. She and Cass never kept anything from each other. Again and again she urged you to speak to Poe yourself but you refused. 

“The EEGs keep coming up clean. And I haven’t had a seizure in about two months. My doctor thinks I’m probably in the clear now.” Poe traced his index finger along the rim of his mug. Emblazoned with the Cuban flag, blue stripes stretched across the curve of the cylinder. 

”That’s great,” Jyn replied as she leaned on Cassian’s shoulder, “and I noticed you’re getting around a lot better lately.”

“I am,” Poe confirmed with guilt and regret written plainly across his face, “Would you put in another word for me? I feel like I can get back out there. And I hate that you’re heading back so soon, I thought things had cooled down.”

“Things looked okay then I guess it took a turn. There was another cluster of bombings overnight, another port city seized.” Cass suspected Poe was much more distraught about the 44th squadron returning to Yemen than he let on. “And yeah, I will. Maybe they’ll take a chance on you. Crazier things have happened.”

Poe needed to visit the hospital again and see his therapist, so even though it was his day off work his schedule was filled. Nothing remarkable was found during his brain scans and his lung capacity was improving. Then came the therapy session, all but mandatory after the flat spin accident. Poe supposed it was alright. A least his therapist was a man with a uniquely calming energy, and didn’t waste breath on flowery placation. 

Dr. Kenobi laced his fingers together and leaned forward to examine his patient. Poe wore a faded t-shirt, cuffed jeans and battered civilian boots. Lilac crescents rested under his dark eyes and even though Poe joked intermittently during their session so far, he noticed that the ex-pilot’s smile never reached his eyes. Obi-Wan Kenobi had seen more than his share of trauma cases while serving as a therapist for the Air Force. It was easy to tell when someone was lying, and almost all of them did. Poe held up tangents as shields so their time would run out before getting to the heart of the session: the dissociation, the mood swings, and the nightmares.

Unusually quiet this session, Poe shifted on the under stuffed chair. Weren’t therapists supposed to have elegant, tufted leather couches? This thing felt like it was from IKEA, the structure under the thin cushion was easily felt and aggravated his mending hip.

”It sounds like you feel the need to follow your friends back to the Middle East- but that’s not your role anymore. You need to support them from the sidelines now. Accept that.”

Service was his family’s legacy; his Aunt Leia made a career in it, his parents Kes and Shara even met in the Air Force. Justice was in his blood, his paternal grandfather Bail had been politically imprisoned and executed by Castro in the ‘60s. Poe wanted to serve from the sky. He didn’t just want to support. It didn’t matter what anyone said, Poe wanted to be there for his squadron. It was his place, his purpose. Sitting behind a desk preparing engineering reports wasn’t his purpose. He would accept no such thing. 

”You’re having a hard day, I know. Can you tell me... When was the last time you ‘checked out’ as you say? Were you triggered when they told you the news?”

Forehead wrinkling, Poe glanced at this therapist with a small shrug. He wasn’t keeping track of how often his body felt like an automaton, driven by gears and levers instead of his own will. He hated the feeling of separation, otherness. Even though he’d been asked to write down their frequency and triggers, Poe neglected that request. 

“Okay,” Dr. Kenobi muttered. The senior man sat behind a mahogany desk, a collection of framed diplomas, certificates and awards covered the walls of the office. ”Are you still having nightmares about the accident? Or the motorcycle crash?”

The frankness of the question caught Poe off guard, and his tired eyes darted away. “No.”

It wasn’t true. There was a recurring dream he had of falling, surrounded by the kaleidoscope lights of the cockpit, but his own body falling. You reaching down to catch him- through the cockpit somehow, like an angel- but not making it. His body, his F-16 plunging into the Red Sea with a deafening shriek. Then annihilation as he shattered into nothing. The dream had been more or less the same since the day he was caught in the jet wash and sustained his double concussion. 

Many nights Poe jerked awake, mouth contorting in panic as he bolted upright. Shallow breaths were soothed by your fingers gently raking through his dense curls as he lay across your chest. He would entangle himself with you, the ebb and flow of your breath lulling him back into peace until he slipped back asleep or early morning light began to pass through the curtains. In the daytime, intrusive thoughts made appearances instead. Poe dealt with their vivid flashes in between the absence seizures brought on by the TBI. A brain like a haywire pinball machine, lighting up at the wrong times and going black for a moment. 

Chewing at the inside of his cheek, Poe stared at the window. He couldn’t make out much but sky and yet he was still drawn to the little rectangle of light. He wanted to escape the confines of the room, the feeling of Dr. Kenobi’s pale eyes, eyes that felt like they could read his very thoughts. The therapist wasn’t frightening but the thought of someone inside his head was.

“Let’s circle back to the confrontation you had with your replacement. You were emotional but you maintained self control,” Dr. Kenobi noted sagely.

Poe’s foot bounced against the carpeted floor. “I actually would’ve decked him if not for Cass. And I hadn’t even had anything to drink yet... I’ve never had anger like this before. Sometimes I’m just angry at everything- that’s not me.”

Dr. Kenobi took a sip out of a mug on his desk and leaned on one elbow. “Give yourself some credit. All things considered, you’ve done well. But I’m concerned the news you received from your friend today could set you back.”

Claustrophobia continued to squeeze at Poe’s throat. He sighed, eyes locked on the small patch of sky through the window. He wanted to escape. He missed it all. Cotton-candy landscapes of clouds. The way the aircraft felt like an extension of himself. Working as a team with his squadron. He even found himself missing Bitchin’ Betty, the grating female voice of the automated flight warnings. And he found himself rubbing the spot on his ribs where the standard-issue 9mm Beretta dug between them under his flak vest. He missed being a pilot. 

 ——

Lando’s house in San Francisco was a tasteful and modern. The guest room you stayed in was wallpapered with the iconic Scalamandre zebras, a rich goldenrod backdrop for the striped equines. The bathroom was luxurious with classic marble counters. Lovely. And you were truly welcome there. But it wasn’t home. Home had an acoustic guitar propped up against the couch. Rows of tall bookcases heavy with your ceramic creations, the vinyl records amassed over decades, birding field guides Poe used to bring along during hikes. B.B.’s nails clicking against the tile of the kitchen, waiting for scraps while you cooked dinner. You missed home already.

Rapping a knuckle softly against the door when he found it ajar, Lando waited for you to invite him in. He checked his text messages again and slipped the phone back into his pocket. 

With a friendly murmur, he entered and found you sitting cross-legged on the bed. Taking a seat on the edge, he noticed the letter that arrived or you a week earlier. Finding Poe’s letter in his mailbox nearly broke his heart for both of you. From its position on the nightstand, Lando couldn’t discern whether it had been opened or not. “Hey, I’m heading out for my date with Elle in a few minutes. Are you alright?”

Without looking up, you hummed an unconvincing yes. Lando let his shoulders drop. Lightly, he put a hand over yours. “You don’t have to be alone to do something meaningful.”

”I waited... I waited a year. It killed me. I was so anxious, so frustrated. Poe was out there doing what he loved and I wasn’t able to. There’s nothing I was able to do in Okinawa.”

Lando flashed that megawatt smile, shifting the energy of the conversation dramatically. “You’ve gotta be kidding me! You practically learned conversational Japanese. You learned ceramics; had a successful exhibition. What’s ‘nothing’ about that?”

Tucking your feet under your thighs, your lips formed a tight, modest smile. Lando knew you shied away from compliments but he couldn’t help himself. 

”You don’t have to make a dramatic break like this- you don’t have to break up with him at all. You’re brilliant, you have a good man. You’ll find a way to make this work.” Lando wasn’t sure if he should bring up the topic at first, and then figured it couldn’t hurt anymore than what hurt now. “...you’re not like her, you know.”

His voice was soft yet that sentence weighed heavy in the air. Your godfather knew you well, and knew your mother even better. 

He had to watch his best friend become consumed by addiction. He was building a successful freight trucking company; she was struggling to maintain a façade of a happy home life. As many times as he tried to reach out, she pulled back. Interventions didn’t work, only sending her into hiding. She went off the map for months at a time. Lando would hire a private investigator to track her down to another state, fly there and try to appeal to her heart. She had a daughter, a home. She could return, he would help her- but the pills always won out eventually.

“I don’t know how to go back. I need to move forward but if I do I’m holding his dream back. There’s no way to compromise. It’s not like you can have half a baby. ...and Poe. I don’t want to let him go. I love him. But it’s not fair to him, and I don’t know what else to do.”

“What do you want, Darlin’?”

”I just wanna do something important. What if I can’t because I’m busy raising a family?” A tear dropped down your cheek. “But I want Poe to get what he wants. He probably won’t get to have the rest of his dream but he can still be a dad.” 

”What he wants is to be with you, don’t you see that by the way he won’t stop?” Lando asked. “What else are you afraid of?”

”How can I ever be a good mom if I didn’t grow up with one? Even if Poe and I have a baby- which I’m on the fence about even in the future- what am I supposed to do? What if I’m just too focused on my career? What if I can’t give them the love they deserve?”

”Just... love them. Give them what you didn’t have. Stability, affection. Your presence. Be there for them like he’s been there for you.” Lando looked square into your eyes, and kissed the back of your hand. “You’re talking as if you don’t know how to care but you do care. Just the fact that you’re taking it so seriously is proof of that. I’m so proud of you. Now you need to believe in yourself. That you’re capable of and worthy of love.”

In Lando’s pocket, the phone buzzed again and he rose to his feet. Straightening his tie, he stood before you in a powder blue button down that complemented his rich complexion. “Can’t leave Elle waiting now, can I?”

——

Cassian meddled with the grill over Jyn’s shoulder. With an easy smile, his dimples made an appearance. “I know what I’m doing!”

“Don’t forget to put the onion on top. That’s what gives it flavor.” Pushing him back playfully, Jyn dug the heel of her palm into Cassian’s solar plexus. “You always forget ‘til it’s almost cooked through.”

”Rook! Dameron!” Cass called, “Remind my girl who’s the best cook outta all of us.”

”Treadin’ on dangerous ground, Commander,” Bodhi dismissed with a chuckle. “That’s all I’m gonna say.” 

Cassian and Jyn exchanged a soft kiss after the teasing banter and Poe’s chest felt brittle watching them. For so long they had waited to be reunited then Cass was jerked back to Yemen as soon as his landing gear hit the tarmac. It was part of the job, Jyn knew that. They had been through this a few times. The striking brunette was poised and humorous, making a conscious effort to be positive in these last hours before the 44th was deployed again. While she was all smiles, busying herself with different duties around the send-off barbecue on base, Poe knew she must be crumbling on the inside. It hurt to watch them embrace. He was crumbling for her. For Cass. 

Bodhi returning to the previous conversation as he scratched B.B.’s neck. “What if she refuses to talk to you in person, too?”

”She will,” Poe insisted. He hadn’t really thought ahead at what he would say to you after he arrived in San Francisco, figured the right thing would come to him in the moment. Now he questioned that logic. He should prepare something. No. That would be weird. You’re married, he should just talk. And say what? Damn. Poe could feel Bodhi’s anxiety rubbing off on him. It was like a skunk spray, permeating everything. Doubt wasn’t productive. He had no use for it. But banishing anxiety and doubt wasn’t as easy as bathing in tomato juice for a couple days.

Holding up one elote smothered in mayonnaise and chili powder for Poe and one for himself, Cassian motioned with a tilt of his head. “Take a walk with me?”

The two took a detour around the grill area, taking B.B. with them, out of earshot of Hux, who'd begrudgingly showed up yet made little effort to be social. Poe bit into the roasted corn and mentally agreed that yes, Cass was definitely gifted in the Mexican culinary tradition. 

“Listen. You need to cut the guilt about not coming along this time,” Cassian began. 

“I’m sure Hux is going to be an asset. He must be good at what he does to be assigned here.”

”Poe,” Cassian used his first name again, making a point that they were speaking as friends and not colleagues, “I know the compressor stall wasn’t your fault- We all know.”

The grass here on base was so green, it looked fake. Poe wondered what kind of budget allotment was made for fertilizer and suddenly realized Dr. Kenobi was right- he deflected from this subject even within his own thoughts. Why else would something so inconsequential pop into his mind at such a time? 

”If I hadn’t climbed so high after that MiG-28 then maybe my compressor would’ve held.”

”Don’t even try to extrapolate that. It was a mechanical failure. And a miracle you landed that jet.” Cassian’s russet eyes were genuine, and he paused for effect. “Eres un milagro.” _You’re a miracle_. 

Scoffing, Poe took another bite and appreciated how spicy the street food snack was. People kept telling him it was a miracle he survived after his TBI. He regularly gripped the St. Joseph medal around his neck and sent a vague word of gratitude into the universe; given his superstitious nature when it came to flying, Poe was quick to give credit to that instead of his skill in the cockpit. Without that, all that would be left of Captain Poe Dameron would be a flag folded into tight corners. He’d become a believer in something else and begun to doubt himself in the process. 

”I’m leaving for California tomorrow. Jyn insisted on watching Beebs.”

”We’ve been talking about gettin’ a dog. Maybe a Weimaraner.” Cassian watched Jyn dig through a cooler and toss a can at Bodhi. “I, uh, planned to propose. I was gonna take her somewhere real nice. Now that plan’s shot.”

”Do it anyway. Who knows how long you’ll be deployed this time? I popped the question while we were lying on a boat dock. It doesn’t have to be a huge production.”

”Maybe.”

”Jyn puts up with your shit—“ Poe laughed as Cass quirked an eyebrow— “She’s beautiful, funny. I’m amazed you didn’t lock that down immediately.”

”We’re not really into paper commitments,” he shrugged. “But I just want her to be covered, you know, in case something happens.”

“I hear ya.” Poe knew all too well how dangerous their job was. “But it wouldn’t hurt to woo her a little before you leave.”

Poking Poe in the rib with his free hand, Cassian rolled his eyes. “Jyn’s not really the swooning type.”

”Well, you two deserve something special before you head out, at least.”

”Oh, that’s absolutely happening. You know how it is,” Cassian smirked. Poe hadn’t meant it sexually, but now lopsided smiles raised both their faces. The only upside to being away intermittently was that it raised the intensity of lovemaking before leaving and after coming home. Poe knew that insatiable appetite for comfort before returning to enemy crosshairs. 

Across the park, Bodhi motioned that the food was ready. Heading back, B.B. trotted in front eagerly pulled in by the smell of meat on the grill. The two men continued to joke and make some light innuendo, grasping onto normalcy for a few more hours.  

“Wait. I just...” Cassian’s accented voice faltered before rejoining the group. With a hand on his former squadmate’s shoulder, he gulped hard through subdued pain. “There’s no one I’d rather have watching my six. And I mean that, hermano.”

——

“Hey, Lando. Thanks so much... I really owe you one,” Poe said softly. Hands buried in the pockets of his pants, he peered past Lando’s shoulder into the house. 

“She’s upstairs. I’m staying the night, just so you know. You two sort this out, okay?” Lando winked then left Poe in the open doorway with a backpack slung over one shoulder.

Pulse rapid, he crept into the home. Poe didn’t want to startle you but he also didn’t exactly want to announce himself by knocking only to be ignored. Then he had an idea. Maybe it was trite but he’d always communicated with you musically. Poe cleared his throat and braced the banister of the stairs leading up to the guest room. 

 _Be careful my darling_  
_Be careful of what it takes_  
_What I've seen so far_  
_The good ones always seem to break_  

Poe’s voice was like hot cocoa laced with a sprinkle of cayenne. Unmistakable. Your head popped out from the hallway and Poe’s stomach became a churning storm. Soulful eyes met yours, expression clouded with remorse. So much to say, so much that couldn’t be said. Because of the dim light, he couldn’t quite read your face. Poe sang louder, fingers still gripping the banister. Looking at you was looking into the eye of a hurricane. 

 _Grab me by my ankles_  
_I've been flying for too long_  
_I couldn't hide from the thunder_  
_In the sky full of song_

Silently, you stared at your husband, standing at the base of the stairs in a white Henley and dark olive pants. Civilian boots covered his feet, scuffed all to Hell while his work boots were pristine. Poe’s curls had grown wilder, but his eyes held familiar sincerity. 

The first time you met him, they burned when his gaze lingered so long it infused your cheeks with heat. 

When he rushed to your side after the emergency surgery, they flooded with tears upon finding out you’d been pregnant. 

As he stood facing you in Venice, they shimmered with joy as he slipped his mother’s ring onto your finger. 

After returning from Yemen, they darkened with so much pain as he told you about the Traumatic Brain Injury. 

Poe’s eyes were always the same: the most beautiful you’d ever seen. And here he was, at the bottom of the stairwell of your godfather’s home, giving you that _look_ with them. That look, it assured you were worthy of the effort and struggle and rewards of marriage. Of family. Of love. Of happiness. Of everything he had to offer. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do you think Corazón’s fear of a self-fulfilling prophecy is going to affect their relationship?
> 
> How do you think this reunion is gonna go down?


	4. Catharsis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe confronts you in San Francisco, vowing to do whatever it takes to mend the relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Soundtrack:
> 
> The Stall by Warpaint: https://open.spotify.com/track/7pGSGnFvgsgyBQlsbsC3bi?si=uRwpvciGRWytbWzZ87aLqg

Dammit, why couldn’t he just listen to Bodhi’s advice? Poe had a 15 hour flight from Okinawa to San Francisco and instead of coming up with an impassioned speech to win you back, he’d watched mindless action movies on an eight-inch monitor attached to the headrest in front of him and chewed through two full packs of cinnamon gum. Now he was at the bottom of Lando’s stairs, face to face with you after not speaking for 37 days- and he found himself fumbling for words.  
  
Stepping forward, tears threatened to overflow from your eyes. Clothed in a simple grey sweater and leggings, your entire body came into view. Your hair was a mess, toweled off after a shower but not styled. Poe immediately smiled, he liked it that way.  
  
Drawn as if by gravity itself, Poe moved up the stairs without a need to understand whatever deeper psychological motives pushed him. The bottom of that staircase might as well have still been cross the Pacific. Each step sent Poe’s fractured hip into white-hot pain but he climbed them in a moment. He smoothed his right hand across your neck to cradle just behind your ear. Your name cracked on his lips, desperate and broken. Poe was still angry, so fucking angry at what you did to him, but he stuffed it down because there was something so right about holding you, touching you. Considering it was a searing ball of plasma about to melt a hole through his sternum, this was no easy task. Bitterness is hard to douse completely, even in the face of the most heartfelt apology.  
  
Stopping just before the tip of his nose brushed yours, Poe felt you tremble. Good. That meant you felt something after all.  
  
Sorrow flavored his kiss, along with a hint of hope, a trace of bitterness. The first kiss, the first time he had seen you since the fateful afternoon the Toyota blew through the intersection. Four weeks. Body warmth was exchanged like osmosis through your clothes. One arm encircled your waist while the other kept a hold on the nape of your neck, and Poe pulled you closer. His tongue slipped against yours. Closer. Slick spirals around each other. Still closer. He couldn’t be close enough after the distance he just crossed.  
  
At last, he pulled back, hands still mirroring your own. One smoothing over the lats under his shirt, the other following the defined plane of his stubble-covered jaw. Eyes still stormy, brows set low and tense. The off-center vein that rose against his forehead under stress was in sharp relief, the corners of his mouth downturned.  
  
“I don't think I can give you what you want,” you breathed out, a millimeter from his lips.  
  
Poe touched you with reverence; he didn’t smother you in affection like he often did when you were reunited. This was different, uncharted. “I just wanna talk. You owe me that much."  
  
Familiar, the solid warmth of Poe’s toned body leaned into you as your head dropped to his shoulder. The hand which had been caressing his jaw trailed higher, and you softly pinched his fleshy ear lobe between your knuckles. Stepping away, it grazed his neck, his shoulder, his arm outstretched. Clasping his hand, you led him to the guest room. It was a start, at least.  
  
Stopping for a moment to crane his head around, he was taken aback a moment by glamorous furniture and zebra- printed wallpaper. Poe knew Lando ran a business but didn’t realize exactly how comfortable he was. It made him slightly more self-aware, as if he was going to ruin something valuable. He was giving you his most valuable possession right now, as he stood in scuffed boots on what appeared to be a very expensive rug. Trust. Poe was placing all his fears, his vulnerabilities, into your stained hands and trusting you not to drop them again.  
  
He thought of the duffel bag he set down by the door, the gift he brought hidden behind metallic wrapping paper. How you believed things could become more beautiful and valuable after they’ve been broken and mended back together. You’d shattered him, and he was here to hand you the broken pieces along with some golden lacquer. Here, make a masterpiece out of this mess. And the funny part was Poe truly believed you could.  
  
“You know how it feels to have your dream ripped from your hands,” you explained as you shut the laptop glowing on top of the comforter. It faced away from Poe, the screen obscured from his view before you collapsed it onto itself. “I can’t do that to both of us.”  
  
“Is that how you really feel?” Devastation soaked his deep-set eyes. “I’m the thing that holds you back?!”  
  
Climbing onto the bed, you sat cross-legged, picking at your cuticles as if undivided attention on them was imperative. “What am I supposed to do if I go back to Kadena?”  
  
Suggestions on how to occupy your time tumbled through Poe’s mind; he paced in front of the bed as he rattled them off. “Fuck, I don’t know! Get a little job around the base. Throw more pottery, learn more Japanese, tutor more students. You could learn to SCUBA dive, or take up photography. Anything you want.”  
  
Except space and distance. That wasn’t offered so willingly.  
  
Your eyes flicked up to Poe then just past him- to the tailored skirt suit hanging from a hook on the closet door- then back to your cuticles. “We want different things and I can’t keep pretending things are fine.”  
  
“I don't want us to pretend. We’ll figure out a way to make things better.” His voice creaked like a plank of hardwood underfoot, “Just come home.”  
  
Each second that ticked by could have swallowed him in a vast, soundless abyss. You had no response. Poe stared at the wallpaper, the repeating pattern of zebras skewered with arrows. What an oddly violent choice, and oddly appropriate. Pressure built behind Poe’s eyes as he struggled to maintain composure. You missed him, you loved him. But you didn’t answer the question of returning. He turned away, pinching the bridge of his nose.  
  
You didn’t speak, didn’t move. For a moment he thought of a game he used to play with his cousin Ben. Freeze. And both would freeze, staying frozen as his mother or Aunt Leia would enter the room and go about their business. The loser was the first one who broke and “thawed”. Ben thought it was so clever, and Poe thought it was boring but played it anyway because compromise is what you do for the people you love. Time was frozen now, but this wasn’t a game. This was his marriage splintering under the weight of an iceberg.  
  
Finally, Poe released a deep sigh and left the room. You didn’t stop him.  
  
He walked down the hall. You didn’t stop him. He walked down the steps, much slower than he ascended them. You didn’t stop him.  
  
He lingered at the door, picked up the duffel bag then stepped through. You didn’t stop him.  
  
Taking a seat on Lando’s porch, Poe reached into his bag and felt around for the gift he had brought along. Once the white and gold striped box was in his hands, he considered leaving it on the porch. Going back to the airport. Drinking heavily as he awaited a return trip to Okinawa. Instead he sat immobilized, staring at the reflective stripes. Lost in thought. Beside himself with heartbreak.  
  
The front door cracked open, and you stepped onto the porch.  
  
”He doesn’t have Cafe Bustelo. Sorry,” you murmured, thrusting a coffee mug into Poe’s hands. A peace offering. “How’s your hip?”  
  
“You’re gonna talk to me now? Only on your terms, is that it?”  
  
Your eyes stayed downcast.  
  
“I see.” A flare of indignation burned in Poe's chest.  
  
“Babe, I’m sorry—“  
  
”Are you?!”  
  
“Come back inside, please. Let’s not do this out here.”  
  
Your relationship was like an impressionist painting: full of shimmering emotion that made sense from far away, only to get confusing up close. Poe wondered if all relationships were this messy in macro view. Maybe Cassian and Jyn- with their utter lack of personal space when it came to each other- had their own blotches of color and blurry details when it came to the big stuff. Things that could only be discussed in subtext, or felt in the bloodstream. Maybe they were a mess, too. Maybe it wasn't such a big deal if you were a mess together, if every marriage was like this.  
  
Nodding, Poe followed you back inside and watched as you sat on an elegant sofa in the living room, flanked by Lucite lamps and with a giant indigo-colored abstract painting above it. He didn’t want to sit on it. And when he realized he was still wearing his boots, he trudged back to the door and unlaced them with one hand, the other still wrapped around the handle of that mug because he’d almost forgotten he was holding it.  
  
When he came back in socks, you gestured for him to sit next to you. Poe made sure to leave four inches of empty cushion between your thigh and his. “I’m sorry.”  
  
Now Poe was the silent one. What could he possibly say to that? His thumb slipped along the curve of the handle and he took a sip because it seemed like the best action to take, not because he wanted to taste the coffee.  
  
"Why did you suddenly text me? After weeks, after calls and voicemails and text and emails and letters. Why now?"  
  
“I’m sorry I haven’t responded to you. I know you were worried—“  
  
”Yeah, and you get angry at me for leaving during an argument.“  
  
”You never should’ve gotten on that bike!”  
  
Jerking, Poe moved closer to your face, close enough where you could make out individual capillaries across the whites of his eyes. “Don’t you dare try to make this about the accident. You know what you did to me...”  
  
Guilt commanded a sudden sob right out of your chest.  
  
“I don’t understand how you can just walk away like this,” he continued. “I thought you needed some breathing space, that you would spend a couple nights at Jyn’s or maybe a hotel in the city. I didn’t know you’d just stop talking all together.”  
  
Flinching away when you moved to put a hand over his knee, Poe set his mug on the table and stood.  
  
”How can you just leave me? Like it’s a clean break? Super easy...”  
  
”Nothing about this is easy!” you shouted. "You think it's easy for me?!"  
  
Poe blinked. Not in surprise, he assumed that if there would be talking there would naturally be yelling, but because you’d made it seem easy to leave. Didn’t even tell him you’d be leaving the country, just a brief mention of not wanting to stay in Okinawa tearfully whispered to him while he was on Fentanyl only hours after he was hit on the Ducati. He was leaving the gym on-base after your last fight, on his way home to tell you that if you didn’t want to try for a baby yet, it was alright.  
  
Tears about to spill over, you looked up at Poe. “I’ve missed you. Cried so much. Lando knows, he must’ve told you.”  
  
”Maybe he thinks it’s time you told me something for yourself,” Poe responded coolly. "So. Why did you text me?"  
  
”I’m just really confused.”  
  
Poe let out a laugh, his lips curled up not because he was happy but because what he'd heard was so unbelievable. "You're confused? I thought I was confused enough for the both of us. You told me you’d come with me wherever I was stationed. I thought you understood. That you wouldn’t hold it against me.”  
  
This must be what it felt like to be ripped in half. He knew he had little to apologize for. Poe with upfront when you met, he was going to flight school and nothing could make him change his mind. Cut to a year later when he received his orders and you promised to wait for each other. Then when he gave you Shara’s ring and you promised to follow him anywhere. Poe kept his promises. He stayed loyal, despite opportunities in Oklahoma and Yemen. He didn’t want anyone else. He wanted you- and he wanted you to keep your promises.  
  
“I’ve done everything,” Poe's voice was soft, a gravelly catch occasionally scratching into the words. “Supported you, stayed loyal. All I’ve ever wanted was to have it all, together. I shouldn’t be punished for that.”  
  
“I know it’s not your fault. This is about me, not us.”  
  
He didn’t know what to make of your statement. It was always about ‘us’ when you’re married, wasn’t it? Why were you acting like he was your antagonist rather than your partner?  
  
“You’re making me feel like the anchor to your arrow. I don’t ever want to be that.”  
  
Poe Dameron didn’t fall in love with a passive, future-housewife. He fell for a young woman with ambition, someone who wanted to better the world, someone who understood his commitment because she had one of her own. Yet those dreams were at odds, as deeply and entirely as you loved Poe. Who would you be if you abandoned your dream, immediately after the degree was in your hands? Not his Corazon. You were a fighter, someone who grit her teeth and refused to back down when she wanted something. That was one of the things he loved. He wanted you to fight for your love now.  
  
He was the kind of person who believed in second chances. Poe’s uncle told him that, after reconciliation with his wife- Poe’s Aunt Leia- years after their divorce. Sometimes when you want something bad enough, life gives you a second chance. So Poe wasn’t about to give up on you.  
  
To break the tension, you smiled for the first time since he’d arrived. Soft and hesitant, your eyebrows still lifted and drawn upward in the middle. Poe reached for you, taking a hand in his. “I’ve missed your touch.”  
  
“I’ve missed all of you,” you answered as his thumb rubbed circles over the delicate skin on the back of your hand.  
  
“That’s ‘because we’re supposed to be together. We’re happier together. Stronger. I believe that. We complement each other. Salt and pepper like you always said.” Poe smiled one of those smiles that drew his mouth into a thin line while his eyes stay melancholy. Even after all the heartache, all the pain, it was that simple. “I’d like to show you something. Will you come with me?”  
  
 Dubious, you gestured to your sleeping clothes and unkempt hair. “Can I go like this?”  
  
—-  
  
Finally reaching the Palace of the Arts, Poe placed his hand between your shoulder blades as you took in the panoramic view of the Greek-styled pergola and reflecting lagoon around it. A blanket of fog settled over much of the landscape, dotted with glowing uplights cast onto columns and plants.  
  
“It’s beautiful,” you murmured. The ride in his rental car had been quiet, save for the disembodied voice of the GPS navigation.  
  
Arms encircling you from behind, Poe breathed in the scent of your hair. He didn’t like that it was different now, apparently from some fancy shampoo Lando kept in the guest bathroom. But the rest of you was familiar to his senses, the texture of your skin and the way your lips tasted. Sighing in agreement, he simply held you for a minute, staring out at the smooth water that mirrored by twinkling stars overhead.  
  
“I wanted to tell you a Japanese fable,” Poe began as he pulled away. He'd dug a pair of vintage binoculars out of the back seat, one of the many that once belonged to Kes. “It’s about a cowherd and a weaver girl.”  
  
Bringing the eyepiece to his face, Poe focused and quickly located the set of stars represented in the story. He passed the binoculars to you, pointing vaguely at the murky sky. San Francisco was cold, even though it was summer. He'd wondered why so many people at the airport were bundled up and once he got off the plane, he was grateful to have brought his jacket- even though it was really just a comfort item more than anything else.  
  
“She’s Vega, right here,” Poe pointed, “and on the other side of the Milky Way, he’s Altair. That bright one.  
  
“The weaver girl made the most beautiful cloth for the gods, but she was lonely. She met the cowherd, who was also lonely, and the weaver girl fell in love. But after they married, the weaver girl no longer wove cloth that the gods loved so much.”  
  
Poe’s downcast eyes focused on his wedding band as your peered into the binoculars, the expression in your eyes hidden by the magnifying glass disks. “So they punished them. Separated them by the Milky Way. But they were in love, and eventually the gods allowed them to meet, but only if she worked hard and finished her weaving.”  
  
“So, they lived happily ever after?”  
  
“No. When the day of the meeting came, they found there wasn’t a bridge. A flock of magpies came to help and made a bridge for the cowherd to cross the river.”  
  
Lowering the binoculars, you looked into Poe’s face ruefully. “Maybe there’s a reason life keeps tearing us apart.”  
  
“Remember the night we got engaged, and you made a set of new constellations?” Poe's hand wrapped around your icy fingers. He didn't look into your eyes, deep twin galaxies that at once comforted and terrified him right now. Instead his gaze flitted between the arched openings between the columns, the water, and the deep eggplant colored sky. “We can rearrange it; make our own happily ever after. You can work hard and still be with the person you love... if you do love me.”  
  
“Of course I do, but I don’t know if we’re supposed to be together. Life just keeps tearing us apart—“  
  
Heat rose up Poe’s neck. Each muscle in his body went tense, and he dropped your grip. “No! No, you left! You left me.”  
  
”I just know if—“  
  
”No!” Poe interrupted, hands whipping through the air as he gestured. “You tore us apart! You! I wanted to have kids! You said that’s what you wanted, too...”  
  
”I don’t know what I want!”  
  
”Obviously!” Poe roared. “Just tell me then so I can fix things! Don’t treat me like a fool and fill me with hope.”  
  
”Who am I to take away your hope?” you whispered. “After Yemen, I saw the joy leave your eyes. You had everything taken from you. And when you talked about trying for a baby it made you so happy. That hope was what kept you going when you were having dozens of seizures a week.”  
  
Poe didn’t know to respond. He wasn’t sure how much of your explanation was honest. Silently, his canines ground against the inner lining of his cheek. He might just bite through it.  
  
“At first,” you continued, “I didn’t think it was a good idea. You weren’t well. The nightmares, the mood swings. We didn’t know if you were going to be Epileptic forever or if your body was going to stop as it healed—“  
  
”And if I was, I could still be a father. What are you saying?”  
  
”You’re still you, I know that. I just wanted to focus on getting you better and understand what we were dealing with, what to expect.”  
  
”What to expect when you’re expecting another seizure to come at any time.” Poe deadpanned. “I read that one, it’s a bestseller.”  
  
“As I was saying—“you glared at Poe, unamused “—at first I didn’t think it was a good idea. Then after some thought, I realized that I wanted a family with you too. And I know no matter what, you’d be an incredible dad.”  
  
Teeth gritting, Poe tried to put into words the question that had been on his mind since he found that little blue and white box, collapsed flat and stuffed far back under the counter. ”Which was it in Valdosta?”  
  
Without missing a beat, you answered, “I wanted it.”  
  
”When we got caught? That time by the creek? That quickie when Leia and Han went to the donut shop and we were convinced Leia wanted us to do it so we felt weird about it— Jeez, we had a lot of sex on that trip.”  
  
Soft laughter jostled your shoulders at the memories. They seemed so far away but were so recent. “Yeah. I wanted it. Even after you made me do that handstand.”  
  
At that, Poe let out his own soft laugh. He remembered making a conception joke and flipping you upside down immediately after having sex at the creek during a hike. Playfully teasing each other, he called himself an idiot and you agreed before he said he wished for a set of bull-headed triplet boys. You made a joke about second-guessing having his baby... and at the time, Poe laughed. Two weeks later when he found that empty box, it haunted him.  
  
It had been haunting him for 37 long days.  
  
“Tell me the truth,” Poe whispered into your hair as he leaned into your shoulder. Realizing the laughter lowered his defenses, his body stiffened. “When did you take it?”  
  
”Before Valdosta,” you sniffled out, “One time. I was thinking about her a lot and I needed... time to think. The Plan B was a way to buy time. But every time I tried to say something you were just... so positive.”  
  
Guitar- calloused fingertips found their way under the hem of your sweater, grazing the scar from the ectopic pregnancy, just over where your left ovary used to be. Right next to his so-called favorite part of your body, a small raised birthmark near your navel. Poe expected you to flinch, but instead you leaned back into him and allowed his hand to run against the vulnerable skin.  This was a loss you shared, one that would link you together forever.  
  
“You could’ve told me,” Poe’s voice was thin, barely audible, “We can talk about losing her, if you need to.”  
  
Hesitating, you trailed a hand against the stubble of his angular jaw. No. Talking about that trauma wasn’t what you needed now. You needed Poe’s hands and mouth and tan skin against yours- and he could feel it, plain as if your body radiated heat from his touch. You loved him. You needed a reprieve from the pain, if only for a little while.  
  
“I can’t.”  
  
“What do you want? What can I give you now?” Poe asked softly.  
  
\---  
  
You were both thankful Lando was spending the night with Elle, it gave you much-needed space and privacy to process.  
  
Spoken language was a limitation. Hours went by; shouting, pacing, crying, turning away from and towards each other. Poe studying the wallpaper or the pattern of the carpet or the wrinkles on his knuckles because looking into your face would be too intense to handle. Trying to analyze the timbre of your sobs, if they meant you were returning to Okinawa with him or not. Poe willing himself to stay strong because he needed to say these things, sometimes ugly things. He needed to hear things from you, things that gutted him. This was catharsis, breaking everything apart bit by bit so hopefully it could be mended again.  
  
Poe retreated to the couch, the tufted one under the indigo abstract. He stared at the painting, trying to make sense of it. You stayed upstairs, sniffling so loudly that occasionally he could hear it. It was beyond exhausting, and Poe dragged himself to the kitchen in an attempt to revive his energy. He was really beginning to feel the 16 hour time difference, and was grateful for Lando's Keurig, even though it paled in comparison to his beloved cafe con leche.  
  
When you ventured downstairs to check on him, Poe motioned for you to take a seat at the table.  
  
“What is this?” You asked when Poe slid the white and gold papered box across the smooth marble surface of the table. The lull in conversation after some time apart seemed a good a time as any to offer up his gift.  
  
“Something I got for our anniversary… before the accident.”  
  
Chestnut eyes sliding away, Poe’s thin smile faded. He watched you open the flaps with trepidation, as if your relationship hinged on this present. It didn’t, and he knew that, but the stakes were high. You were gun-shy now, a flight risk. He worried that any wrong move on his part would result in being shut out again. Lifting the bubble wrap away, you found another layer of Styrofoam packing material molded to the shape of the object. You separated it and unwrapped the final layer of tissue paper.  
  
Kinsugi.  
  
Emotions came over you in an onslaught as you gingerly lifted the vase from its cardboard and bubble-wrap confines. Lip quivering, a finger traced along the metallic veins that held the vase together. Turning it over in your hands, you examined the craftsmanship. Fine porcelain, hand-thrown. The gold repairs were seamless; you couldn’t feel a texture difference when your fingertip skimmed over it. It was beautiful. It had been broken, smashed to pieces. But with time and patience, it had been transformed. Pressure began to pool behind your sinuses, and your mouth crumpled into an ugly shape as you fought off the urge to cry.  
  
“I thought your collection could use another. Cheer and Baze helped me pick it out ‘cause I don’t know jack about pottery.”  
  
“Babe, I…” the thought was left unfinished. It started out as gratitude and morphed into something else you couldn’t quite articulate. How does one communicate the feeling of standing over the person you love the most, ripping their heart through their chest? How do you apologize to the person who you scooped hollow?  
  
This gift was too much. Too appropriate.  
  
“Did I ever tell you about the moment I knew you were the person I was gonna marry?” Poe smiled, a far-off look in his chestnut eyes. “It was an anniversary. When you moved in, the anniversary of when I lost my dad. You baked me a peach cobbler and we listened to his old Leo Dan records?”  
  
“Your favorite- I remember. Finn helped.”  
  
“That’s when I knew. I mean, I knew I loved you before then. But that’s when it became clear you were the one.”  
  
“Poe. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m so sorry... but I think we might be broken. For good.”  
  
Looking into your eyes, Poe could see a future where you both were happy. It wasn’t a projection of his desires, it was apparent. All you had to do was reach out, take his hand and trust him. Trust yourself. Glue the shards of your marriage back together. Poe wasn’t a simple person, but he was idealistic. He believed things could be simple, things like love could be as simple as loving one another and it working out.  
  
“If this can be fixed, so can we,” Poe whispered. “Corazón, I just wanna love you and be loved by you. While we sleep in the same bed and eat meals across from one another. Is that too much to ask?”  
  
 ---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you think Poe really feels ready to give up trying for a baby, or do you think he’s saying that so things will go back to “normal”? 
> 
> Comment and let me know!


	5. Snuff Your Spark - NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe needs to process some complicated feelings physically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CN: Depiction of PTSD symptoms including intrusive thoughts
> 
> Chapter Soundtrack:
> 
> Moth and the Flame by Deux Love Orchestra: https://open.spotify.com/track/6NpzkIYecTgirnDViWoisp?si=_z_ML7sZQBC5AcWDvV0K0Q

Whatever was in that K-cup wasn’t caffeinated enough to keep him awake through the night. Together you talked deep into the night, Poe pacing at the foot of the bed in Lando’s guest room. Tears flowed, damned by kisses. He’d been curled up on the bed as you spoke, and drifted off under the weight of the jetlag and complete emotional exhaustion.

Poe slipped into the rest of a trauma survivor, incomplete. Part of his brain might always try to make sense of the past, rearranging it again and again. Even though the focus right now was to make things right with you, his stubborn mind insisted on reliving the last time he was in the cockpit. Poe felt like one of those kinsugi pots you liked so much, but before it was finished. Pieces of him were laid out, and he was scrambling to organize and mend them back together before he was declared a lost cause.

Red lights flashed before him, in time with a piercing warning. 

_Excessive spin rate._

Landscapes of water and the jagged range of mountains tumbled outside the cockpit, lit in night-vision green.

 _Excessive spin rate_.  

A female voice spoke to him through the headset, abrasive and mechanical as it repeated the alarm. Poe read the control panel through blurry eyes and made a quick calculation; ejection wasn’t an option. 

 _Excessive spin rate_.

Before the F-16 plunged into the Port of Midi, Poe saw you. Not in night-vision but in perfect color. He recognized the true shade of your eyes, the horror in them as you reached for his hand. Your mouth stretched open in a silent scream as he slipped lower and lower out of your reach. 

 _Excessiv_ —

Jolted awake by an adrenaline surge, Poe was surprised to find himself in your arms- not just being held, but being cradled, his head against your chest as you slouched against the plush headboard. The dream was usually the same each time, a remix of what happened in Yemen the night his life changed. For the last month, you hadn’t been there to reassure him upon waking. 

“Hey. It’s alright,” you soothed, a hand already laced into his fluffy mop of bed-hair. 

Fuck. It felt good to be held. Poe tried to remember what Dr. Kenobi had taught him to anchor himself in the present moment using his senses. He searched for four things he could see. In the dim, blue-tinted light, he could still make out the zebras on the wallpaper. The door. The glow of your laptop cord, apparently forgotten about. Your arm slung across his chest.  

“Are you okay?” Although still veiled in sleep, Poe could hear the concern in your voice. 

“I’m used to it,” Poe murmured. The flashbacks were still terrifying every time, it didn’t matter how much praise he received for managing to recover from the spin and land the jet. For being a so-called miracle. Every time, you reassured him patiently. Your own sleep pattern was thrown off-kilter when Poe leapt awake or cried out at 3:00 AM but you never complained. He also appreciated that you never pressed him to talk about it, at least not after the first couple weeks. Leaning back into your warmth, Poe stretched his calves. Toes pointed down, toes drawn back up. If he wasn’t keenly aware that he was in your godfather’s opulent home- albeit with weird safari wallpaper- he could maybe pretend none of this had happened. Another night at Kadena AFB, the Okinawa moon glowing through the curtains. But his swollen eyelids and hoarse throat reminded him that there was still a long way to go before that was a possibility again. 

He searched for three things he could feel. Fingertips on his scalp. He’d missed that. The softest sheets he’d ever felt. One more... one more... Poe lifted a hand and felt the relief of St. Joseph on his necklace. Three. 

Now two things he could hear. The gentle resistance of your breath as it passed through your nose. Humming of the fan overhead. 

Tenderly, your lips met the center of his forehead and you tightened the grip around his shoulder. Poe wondered if you had deliberately gotten into this position- it was a welcome surprise to him but you didn’t seem fazed by it, only addressing the nightmare and not the fact that you were cuddling so soon after the biggest fight of your marriage. Quietly, slowly, you were being glued back together. Poe found comfort in this, but chose not to say anything yet.

One more thing Dr. Kenobi wanted him to find when he needed to tether himself back to reality: A thing he could taste.

Upper body slanted over your torso, Poe pulled himself upright then rolled onto his stomach to face you. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Mmmm...” you hummed, “I missed sleeping next to you.”

Shifting forward, Poe brought his mouth closer to yours. “What else did you miss?”

”The way you sing in the car. The silly things you say when you’re playing with B.B.”

He smiled although he wasn’t sure if you could see it. “Oh. He’s being watched by Jyn again— which reminds me, Cass is gonna propose.”

”What?” Sitting up abruptly against the headboard, you launched a string of questions about when and where and what cut of stone the ring was.

”Whoa, all I know is he wanted it to be real special. Not rushed before he left.” Poe could feel your shoulders sink even though he wasn’t touching them. He leaned up on his forearms but his stomach stayed against the mattress. “The 44th is back at Al Anad. They left earlier his week.”

”I know,” you admitted quietly. “Jyn told me.”

”You’ve been talking to Jyn? Since when?”

”Since... since I left. Cassian doesn’t know I ask for updates about you. Like when you checked yourself out of the hospital early and almost got into a bar fight defending Bodhi from that racist prick.”

He wasn’t sure if he should feel touched or betrayed at this revelation. Jyn told him to his face she hadn’t heard from you, and all he wanted to know was if you were okay. He didn’t see deceit in her hazel eyes; maybe Poe was too trusting. There was no reason to believe otherwise, but he supposed friends carried secret burdens for each other all the time. 

“You’re so smart, babe... Stop being so stubborn.”

”I could say the same to you,” he quipped, “The hard-headed love of my life.” It might’ve been too early to joke again. There was a cautionary period after arguments, when wounds were especially susceptible to the salt of a tease, no matter how benignly intended. But you leaned down and pulled his face to yours. Slow fingers slid against his jaw and hooked just behind his ears. Tilting up, he met your lips. There was the final item of his sensory scavenger hunt: The taste of you, the best thing he’d ever tasted. 

“That could’ve been you going back into a conflict zone,” you somberly noted.

”I should be. I asked for a re-evaluation again, and Cass was going to put a good word in.”

”Why do you want to go back?”

There wasn’t any use in trying to wrestle his guilt away. Poe didn’t want to go back to Yemen- the things happening there were awful. He felt he had to, that it was his duty, although a pit grew in his stomach when he let himself consider what truly is right and wrong in war. Muddy politics he didn’t fully understand mixed with headlines about death tolls. Mission briefings used formal, cold language instead of examining the ethics of getting involved in a intricate web of conflict across the world. Far as Poe was concerned, his job was to backup the others.

“They need pilots, they’re already short. We work with Saudis, and they're real good, it's just all hands on deck right now. Two more cities were captured by Rebels."

”I’m just glad you’re safe,” you whispered, eyes fixed on the aviator’s patron saint around his neck. “I don’t want anything else to hurt you.”

“ _You_ hurt me.”

“I know, babe. I’m sorry.”

Poe raised up on his hands and knees, and crawled toward your face. Wordlessly. He caught the scent of your skin and wondered if his body made you as weak for him as he was for you. And he was weak, especially now. But maybe you shouldn’t know that. Lifting his hand, he grazed your cheek with the back of two fingers, his wedding band catching the dim light. 

“I deserve your anger.” 

He didn’t want to rehash everything that you’d been over for hours and hours again. He didn’t even want to be awake yet. Too exhausted to hide his mental narrative from his face, it took Poe a moment to realize why you were suddenly withering away from him, turning against the headboard.

”It’s okay.” It wasn’t, but that’s what he said anyway. Acclimated to the darkness, he was finally able to focus on your face. You were still turned away, features in profile. Poe studied the architecture of your nose, the swell of your bottom lip, your chin. He could stare at you for an eternity and still find new things to appreciate. “I mean, I just wanna be alright again. Does that make sense?”

You turned to face Poe, still in the wrinkled, off-white Henley and olive pants he’d worn on the plane. He felt you examine his face then your gaze fell on his body, still on all fours. Almost like he was begging. “We’ve yelled and cried and talked and... how do we get through this?”

Poe lifted the same hand and moved your sweater to the side, scraping his teeth along the bare skin of your shoulder. The bristle of his third-day stubble and edge of his teeth brought back so many memories of heated nights. He pressed against you, sandwiching you in between the headboard and his chest as he rose to his knees. ”I don’t know.”

Another kiss on the mouth. Poe took his time, building up before he snuck his tongue in. He always communicated best in touch, intuitive and honest. One hand rose up under the sweater, skimming over the skin of your lower back. The other caressed along your collarbone and shoulder.  Languid became ravenous, Poe was hungry for you and for resolution.

His tongue slipping in between your plush lips meant ‘let me in’.

 _I’m trying_ , your own tongue answered. 

The thumb grazing against the flutter of pulse in your throat meant  ‘don’t lock me out’. 

 _I won’t anymore_ , your heartbeat answered. 

Swiftly grasping your shoulders, Poe guided you down to lie on the bed instead of leaning against the headboard. Now you were under him, arms encircling his neck. A little harder than necessary, he lifted your thigh to his hip and ground the outline of his erection between your legs. You arched into him, clearly craving this release. The words that tumbled from your lips seemed involuntary, like stream-of-consciousness poetry. “I’m yours.”

That phrase gave him pause. Poe was caught in between elation and anger and sorrow all over again. Somehow, he simultaneously wanted to sob in your arms and push you away and make love. Caressing the hair that framed your face, Poe’s voice dropped low as he dared, “Prove it.”  

The darkest part of his psyche wanted to thrust into your mouth as you gagged out an apology. Poe himself didn’t really want that, although the mental image was vivid and satisfying in some small way. Resentment still cast a shadow over the interaction, and he didn’t know what to do with it. He’d never felt anything comparable to this before. Poe wondered how one talks through this bitterness when his only experience was to process feelings this intense physically. Wrapping your leg around his hip hurt a little, and he winced. But the way his cock felt nestled between your soft thighs was worth it- even though his pants. Physical processing could work, for now. 

Licking his neck, your hands roamed down his body over his shirt. Soft breasts were kneaded in his palms, the warmth of his hands permeating the knit of your sweater. At once, you yanked it off, soft nipples exposed in the cool air. Poe pulled his shirt overhead, and melted into you when your skin made contact. It awakened memories stored at the most basic cellular level, complicated and poignant. Poe’s movements had a subtle edge to them. Loving but with something just on the other side. He was holding back when he wanted to sprint headlong into you. 

Scooting down, his mouth engulfed a nipple and you let out a moan that sent another surge of blood below his belt. Your fingers began to fumble with it, the buckle clanking against the brass button of his pants. Rubbing him through his black boxer-briefs, you knew he loved a tease. Zipper wide open, you caressed up and down Poe’s shaft, tracing along the ridge and back down without touching his skin directly.

Poe loved the way anticipation made your fingers tremble slightly; even after three years of being together you still trembled like it was the first time. They were trembling now, one hand on his cheek- just over the faint pink scar on the right side- and the other cupping his balls through his briefs. He flinched with the tickle as your fingertips traced from the base of his cock to the tip. Both hands tugged at the wide waistband and it sprung free. He yielded, under your control, pulling to the side so his weight was off your body. Immediately you turned, now getting on all fours to kiss his taut stomach. You kissed just below his navel where the hair became dense, moving diagonally to give a timid lick to the dip between it and the curve of his hipbone. Poe looked at you with wild eyes, and drew his arms up on either side of his head. Passive yet comfortable. Trusting. His signature black curls were whipped into a fluffy mess from sleep, and Poe could feel how voluminous they had grown when he laced his fingers behind his head. Smoothing them down, he swore he could hear the blood rushing to his cock, a desperate whooshing in his ears. He waited. Now maybe he was the one trembling.

Gently- daresay sweetly- you began. Like maybe you were apologizing. First you kissed the dot of precome that rested on the reddened tip, then you drew the entirety of his length into your mouth, the soft tissue pushing against your throat a second before retreating. Again and again, you repeated this, making Poe delirious already. Licking down the shaft, you looked up at him. Eye contact during oral was his Kryptonite. Dribbling saliva off your tongue resulted in a deep groan, Poe shifting his thighs in approval. 

“Get over here, mi amor...” he nearly purred, squeezing you. “Put that ass in my face.”

As you bent over his cock, Poe ran his jaw and hands along the curve of your ass. He dipped a hand between the cheeks, fingers pressing into the vulnerable space between your legs and you arched, the outline of your swollen lips visible through the thin leggings. Playing the same tease as you, Poe buried his face in the cleft as you whimpered. He could smell you, feel the heat radiating from your core. His tongue was so very close to where you needed it to be. Just on the other side of the fabric and you didn’t care if he ripped them open straight down the center seam right then. Bobbing enthusiastically, you took him deep into your mouth again. Then, he mercifully pulled them down, two fingers now probing at the puffy lips. A gasp was choked out as Poe dragged an uninterrupted, wide lick from your clit to the slit, plunging inside before repeating from the starting point. He began to devour you as you sucked him. Glistening wet and writhing, irresistible. He braced your ass and pulsed against the sensitive nub, a blur of movement that sent chills down your spine.

Shrieking, you popped off his cock and gripped it with a single hand. Poe didn’t relent, now fluttering faster as you pushed against his face. A shudder, a whine. Then stillness as the high began to fade. How one little spot could make you unravel so fast was amazing. The nails of your other hand sank into the flesh of his thigh through his pants. Why the Hell was he still wearing pants? He needed to feel you, revel in the warmth and softness of your skin. Poe gripped your ass one more time and planted a kiss between your legs before guiding you up. Poe shucked his pants and underwear, kicking them to the foot of the bed. 

Climbing over him with a look of hunger, your hands were enmeshed in his hair. You made sure the shaft was nestled in the cleft of your body, just under your clit. Teasing rocks of the hips ensured he was listening. “I need you to pull out, okay?”

Poe nodded. The last time you were intimate, you were trying to conceive. A serious expression was on your face that night and Poe had assumed it was due to the intensity of the sex and the gravity that you were actively ‘trying’. Poe took it for granted then; he couldn’t assume anything anymore. He wasn’t assuming anything right now- in fact, he could barely think, his cock throbbing as it sunk into the tight space.

High on the suppleness of your breasts and the slightly sweet aftertaste of your arousal, Poe let out a moan. It was like a monsoon after a drought- at once comforting and a little terrifying. Training and temporary duty often put a distance between you and it was to be expected with his job. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, or so they say. This time, it had only been a month and here he was like it was acting like it had been a year. Maybe that was because, unlike the other times, he didn’t know if he would ever touch you again. 

Spreading your thighs wider, you smoothed both hands across his chest as you sank down in a deep straddle to envelope his length entirely in the hot, spongy space. Poe bucked up into you- he couldn’t help himself- and grit his teeth.

”Are you okay?”

”Mmn,” he huffed out. “Feels good.”

When you rolled your pelvis over his, Poe’s mouth opened softly for a moment before sucking in a harsh breath. You stopped. “What’s wrong? Oh, I forgot about your hip!”

With a look of frustration, he shook his head. “I don’t think I can take any weight on it. Maybe if we spoon?”

You lifted off him and it was relief and denial all at once. He was still inconceivably hard and needed you. He had to have you. Not just for the bliss of orgasm or the comfort of becoming one with each other. Not just to satisfy the possessive, ancient part of his DNA that demanded a mate. This was closure, like the second consummation of your marriage. 

Laying on the bed beside him, you brought your lips over his. Soft, perfectly shaped. Lips that formed words that filled him with joy and despair. Right now they weren’t speaking in vocal language, they were filling him with want. Facing away from him on your side, you pressed your body against Poe, nestling into him. He molded around you, fractured hip facing up, hands roaming over your stomach and breasts as he guided his length in from behind. Slow, deliberate strokes began as you let out a gasp of pleasure. Poe nuzzled into the crook of your neck, breathing in your familiar scent. You fit together like jigsaw puzzle pieces, not just physically but in every way. Complements. Two people who were more together than they could ever be apart. 

Eager hands confirmed how excited you were. They gripped Poe’s as he kneaded your jostling flesh and reached back to touch him, skimming over the hair on his thigh and ass as he pumped in. He wanted your hands everywhere, sweeping over his body inch by inch. He wanted you to claim him all over again, assure him that he belonged to you. 

“Just like that... oh, there,” you praised when he changed pace. Dampness had formed on your neck where his face was buried, and you were rocking back in time with his movements. Velvet-soft, you were so wet it made a noise each time he pushed in. It made you self conscious sometimes but it drove Poe wild to know he made you that wet, dripping and moaning. He knew which spots made your breath hitch and how to lick you so you squirmed against his chin. He knew you better than anyone else. 

“Gonna give you what you need, Corazón,” he promised. And it was true. He’d give you anything. All of himself, served up like a sacrifice. If this was self-destruction then it was worth it, his final moments filled with the sensation of his cock completely within your snug body. Maybe you’d assimilate him and he wouldn’t feel like he was lacking anymore. 

“I need _you_.” Hands outstretched, you pushed against the wall for leverage and arched your lower back. Simultaneously, you let out groans at the deeper penetration. Poe’s skillful yet slow thrusts increased power, pausing for a moment when he couldn’t go any farther into you. In sync with his motion, you tensed your legs as he slid in and sighed when he pulled out. “Does this hurt?”

”No, it’s incredible,” he answered, kissing your earlobe.

“You’re incredible, Poe.”

Sweat began to trickle off his sacrum toward the mattress and your whines of bliss became louder. Your ass undulated against him, palms braced against the wall as he slipped two fingertips into your mouth. Poe began concentric circles against your clit, still driving himself in. Lungs fighting for breath, he tried to savor all of it. Clamping around him even tighter, your body begged for more. He tapped against it rapidly, almost a flutter as he took you completely and slowly from behind. Contrasting stimulation to make you squeal and gush around him. 

For a moment he wanted to be almost cruel, slap the sensitive bundle of nerves so it buzzed white-hot then ignore it completely as he fucked you brutally and filled you with come anyway. No, not tonight. When his flash of anger subsided, Poe reminded himself he wasn’t about to finish in you, given the circumstances. Besides. This was supposed to be a loving experience. And he did love you. 

Turning your head, you looked over your shoulder at Poe. Sweat beaded over his dense brows, eyes pinched closed and lips parted as he sent you right to the brink of bliss. Reaching back, your fingers threaded into his obsidian waves and he groaned in approval when you gave them a firm tug at the root. Another tug and Poe responded with a sharp thrust after he was completely ensheathed. Mouth set in a snarl when he did, you wondered if it was from pain or anger or enjoyment. 

“Do you love me?” He didn’t know why he asked this now. He’d asked it earlier tonight and you’d given him an answer but he needed reassurance. Poe whispered your name against the skin of your neck, a hot and humid collection of sounds. He didn’t call you by your actual name often, and when he did it felt like something important was happening. Poe repeated your name, repeated his question into the graceful curve of your neck and shoulder. “Do you love me?”

“Yes,” you panted out. “I’m yours.”

Poe pulled out nearly all the way, the head of his cock poised at the juicy entrance of your body. His fingers split into a v, rubbing on either side of your clit. 

”All of you?” Poe challenged, pushing completely inside with a smooth, delicious buck of his pelvis.

Gasping at the feeling of being utterly filled, you nodded wordlessly and looked into his face. Poe kissed you, keeping his eyes open halfway. It felt vulnerable to maintain the contact, but you did, somehow understanding that he needed to see you this way. Poe held you close, hooking the arm against the bed around your neck. His chest was about to explode with love and relief and elusive emotions that didn’t have names in English or Spanish or probably any other language. He didn’t know what to call it, only that it felt like inflating to the point that his lungs would pop. 

”You’re my everything,” you whispered before meeting his lips gently. 

God. The way you looked at him... like you were seeking sexual absolution. One hand strayed from his hair to his jaw, while the other braced the wall. This was it. This was how you would get through this emotional Hellscape. Poe continued to thrust into you as you shared a passionate kiss. You loved each other, it was going to be alright. 

Pouring his love and frustration into each stroke, Poe felt your thighs begin to quake before the space between them became even warmer and wetter. Your hips rolled around his cock, forcing him into the space that sent you into a moaning mess. Craning your neck back, you shuddered, body tensing as he tapped against your exposed clit. Poe struggled to catch up. Together, he wanted to come together. It really was best that way. With a last-ditch burst of energy, he ignored the stinging in his hip to chase his own high. 

Something primal and determined took over, like a chained dog that pulls so hard on the links that they break and it charges forward. In a single movement, swift like it was choreographed, Poe rolled you onto your stomach and pinned you down. Wide palms clamped over the backs of yours as you twisted fistfuls of sheet. Poe loved you- he loved you more than anything else, even flying itself- but dammit, he was also going to fuck you senseless. The chain snapped. 

Squeals pierced the early morning air, a sound he only heard you make when he penetrated you so thoroughly that you told him it felt like he was in your stomach. You once described it as the best kind of overwhelming and it gave him a strange sense of pride. This brand of dominance was something you craved, submitting to your husband entirely. He let out an involuntary noise, frenzied pumping causing his balls to slap against you rhythmically. The tingle and the tightness and the way his chest felt forcing you into the mattress was going to send him over that edge. Pressure deep in his stomach was expanding, threatening to erupt before you were finished.

Poe needed to overwhelm you now, to remind you that he existed and he was here and he wasn’t to be _ignored_ anymore.

“All of you,” he growled into your ear. In this position, he was practically vacuum-sealed to your shape, arms and hands pressing into the backs of yours as the weight of his compact body sank you into the mattress. Chest slick with sweat, it slipped against your back a little as he took over completely.

All of you. You belonged to him. And he was going to give you all of himself in exchange.

With a scream- an actual scream, to his surprise- you came undone underneath Poe. Your legs scrambled for some sort of leverage against the smooth sheets as your pussy spasmed. Then the deluge of creamy wetness, covering his cock and making the last strokes nearly effortless. Fuck. You stilled, nearly petrified, as it washed over you both, then whined as he started to thrust again. Absolutely phenomenal. 

One final thrust, then Poe harnessed every drop of self control as he forced himself to pull out. Everything in his body wanted to come in you, but his logic screamed no. And he couldn’t betray your trust, especially not on this subject. The pain, the pleasure, the instinctual desperation to mate and feel safe and be loved- it all distilled into this moment. One brief moment that engulfed him, threatened to swallow him up whole. He was helpless, vulnerable, even as he lay on top of you. Hot and thick on the swell of your ass, Poe finished with a grunt, eyes welded shut as he clung to the light-headed sensation. It shot out of him so hard, it called to mind the kickback of his Beretta.

Kissing the nape of your neck and with a soft puff of breath against the fine hairs there, he whispered your name again. Partially muffled by the pillow you had your head turned against, you whispered his name back. This was a ritual, repeating back what the other muttered during lovemaking. Poe needed the validation of ritual, to know the past you shared together mattered.

Chests heaving, you stayed onto your stomach and he rolled onto his back so as not to make a mess on the sheets. Poe ran a hand through his dampened curls and blew a stream of air through pursed lips. Gingerly, he sat up against the headboard. Folding your arms under your head, you gazed at him with eyes still somewhat swollen from the night’s earlier tears. A slow smile spread across your face and Poe’s own expression mirrored it, a genuine display of relief. Your eyes closed and he continued to watch you recover a normal breathing pattern. 

The emotions that boiled over had eased down to a simmer. And that was a start. 

Wispy fingertips followed the curve of your back. Poe studied your exquisite body, eyes falling on the pad of muscle and fat still coated in his seed. Just a couple weeks ago, you would’ve been tilted up, afraid to move for thirty minutes after to try and boost your chances of conception. You’d been monitoring your cervical mucous, and Poe knew more about it now than he ever cared to. He wanted it to be fun and carefree, screwing like rabbits, but it wasn’t so easy. The hemorrhage from the ectopic pregnancy had claimed an ovary and you were already at a disadvantage. He really couldn’t blame you for being scared to be pregnant again. Trauma and grief burrowed deep into your psyche and he could never fully understand how it must’ve felt to have a life inside you sacrificed so you could continue to live. Poe understood this was something you had no fault in, the result of a random shuffle of the cosmic deck of cards. There was no other way to save you.

He tried to remind himself of this when he was angry about everything that happened. Misguided acts of self-preservation often happen in the aftermath of trauma. Dr. Kenobi taught him that, and he tried to give you some grace. He didn’t need to start a family yet, anyway. He just thought you were ready. What he needed now was your happiness.

After a few minutes of reflection, you got up and stole a kiss before taking a shower in the adjacent bathroom. Poe listened to the water hiss and wondered if he was too rough, if you should've shared a different kind of intimacy given the circumstances. But he remembered that satisfied smile was on your face when he finally willed himself out of bed. Maybe you were looking for some kind of punishment when you told him you deserved his anger. Either way, you both came and kissed and laid in comfortable silence together after. And that was enough for him.

"Tag me in?" Poe extended a hand into the shower. You didn't turn the light on, instead letting the dim light from the frosted window illuminate the bathroom. Pulling him in, you rested your head on his chest next to his St. Joseph pendant. Water poured over your bodies, fused together. Familiar, like when he came home smelling like JP-8 and peeled off his flight suit in the hallway before he even reached the bathroom. You'd join him- just like now- and rest your head on him as you soaped each other up. It usually wasn't erotic, just tender.

"I want you to know something," Poe whispered.

He still felt responsible for your pain, like he needed to atone for being stationed in Okinawa. Logic told him he had nothing to apologize for but his heart was still burdened by the fact that his job took away your chance to be fulfilled professionally. This entire day had conjured too many emotions, old ghosts. The baby girl you lost, the lie you told about wanting another one. The way your career was ripped away to move with Poe halfway around the world. The injury that cut Poe's own career short, his own demons that followed him in the day and night with intrusive thoughts and nightmares. It was too much to carry alone. Three years worth of memory, teased out and examined and re-hashed over hours and Poe was _tired_. He just wanted everything to be okay again. For you to be okay again, to take those shattered memories and glue them back together. 

"I'm sorry about not understanding before. I... I want you to be happy. And I know you wanna to do big things, I want that for you, Corazón." Poe wondered if you were crying when you didn't respond, your cheek still pressed against his smooth chest, but there was no way to tell with the water falling around you. "I don't want to snuff your spark. That's what I love about you. I wanna fan the flame."

"I know." In the dark of the shower, you tilted your head and kissed him. Hands wrapped around his shoulders, pressing into his body, you kissed him like nothing else mattered, like the universe was concentrated on the love between you and the sound of water trickling overhead. Poe desired you completely, but what was more, he desired your happiness. He didn't want to contain you, he wanted to walk beside you. His lungs still strained, and he let out a sigh. You were together again. Mended, or in the process of being mended.

—-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you make of the residual anger Poe feels?


	6. Nosedive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relationship shaky but stabilizing, Poe tries to enjoy the rest of his stay in San Francisco with you before receiving some shocking news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CN: Terrorism, Depersonalization/Dissociation
> 
> Chapter Soundtrack:
> 
> Stay In My Corner by The Arcs: https://open.spotify.com/track/3zobfMEipF81bJfPVp1h09?si=lMtTYRl-RfGapb2XO8VWnA

Even the most unbreakable optimist can’t always turn their cheek and pretend like they weren’t hurt. Poe hoped he could simply burn the pain away last night in a steamy union of hormones and apologies mumbled through swollen mouths. But now he found it charred, smaller, lingering in the outskirts of his consciousness. Undeniably lighter, though, he felt buoyed by your cautious smile.

He’d watched you sleep again, admiring the contrast between your skin tone and the color of the sheets. Chirps and whistles were sounding from outside and Poe went to the window, eyes darting through the branches of a tree out front. Occasionally, he’d notice flocks of green parrots back in Tampa and he knew that there was a neighborhood here in San Francisco famous for them. He couldn’t see the birds, and you were content to dream, so he slipped downstairs. He was always more of a morning person than you, anyway. 

Mug in one hand and the binoculars in the other, Poe settled onto the porch. It was still chilly, the early hour casting a thick fog around the North Beach neighborhood. Poe closed the front of his jacket and brought the binoculars to his face. Soon he found the parrots and watched them chatter, sipping his coffee. He was rattled by the violent thoughts in his mind, brief flashes of anger where he envisioned something he wouldn’t do. Even when he wasn’t angry, these thoughts followed him, waiting for a moment to surface. This wasn’t normal. 

When Hux mocked him and insulted Bodhi, Poe had a clear, almost cinematic image of breaking his teeth on the bar top. Punching the shit out of Hux was one thing- a thing Poe would like to do very much, actually- but shattering a person’s mouth is quite another. When you were having makeup sex, Poe imagined shoving himself into your mouth for you to gag on. He might like it a little kinky (let’s be honest, so did you) but didn’t want that at all. It was frightening. If he thought these things, did he actually _want_ to do them on some level? Poe guarded these thoughts, kept them hidden from everyone. You, Cassian, even Dr. Kenobi. Kes and Shara Bey-Dameron didn’t raise a belligerent hot head who broke jaws over a few offensive words or who hurt his wife in bed. 

As he watched the parrots, Poe finished his coffee. He made his way back into Lando’s house, quietly into the guest bath and changed into a pair of dark wash blue jeans and a faded t-shirt emblazoned with The Clash’s logo. He revived the curls that were smashed against the pillow overnight and examined the bags under his eyes. It was like the last five months had aged him ten years. He was only thirty one but the mirror suggested otherwise. 

Peeking into the bedroom, he found you cross-legged on the bed, clicking away on the laptop keyboard. “Mornin’. Hungry?”

”Starving,” you answered, eyes flicking to Poe and back to the monitor, “Just lemme finish up this email and I’ll be down.”

”Lando’s gonna be here in twenty. Says there’s a great breakfast spot nearby.”

Poe sat on the couch and took in the designer home Lando lived in while you dressed and styled your hair. It was definitely fancy, bordering on ostentatious. Lando was kind, he treated you well and Poe could see you truly considered each other family, despite the lack of a blood or marital connection. The guy was one cape or fur coat away from being a cartoon character, though somehow he possessed enough charm for it to work in his favor. Everything about him was slightly larger than life, his personality, his sense of style, his business. Poe thought of him as a distinctly American tall tale in a pair of Gucci sunglasses.

“There’s my... Godson-in-law? Is that a thing?” Lando laughed, pulling Poe in for a hug when he arrived in the gleaming black Range Rover. “So, I assume things are going well?”

”Yeah, we’re working on it,” Poe confirmed with an exhausted smile. “Nice ride.” 

All too happy to show off his pride and joy, Lando invited Poe to the vehicle to list off the specs and personal modifications he’d made. You came down, wearing a hoodie and jeans.

“You two can’t go like that!” Lando explained, “This is a brunch place, a little nicer.” 

”Oh, if it’s that expensive then we’ll just grab a—“

“Nonsense! You’re my guests and I’m treating you to the best brunch in the city.” Waving a hand, Lando dismissed your protest. He was perfectly coiffed, wearing a canary yellow scarf and white jeans with loafers. The tropical combination of colors popped against his melanated skin and the dreary fog of the city. “Besides, bottomless mimosas.”

Smiling, you shook your head at Poe so he wouldn’t argue and went back inside. He looked down at the battered leather of his boots, shiny black long ago but a worn grey now. Practicality had always dictated Poe’s clothing choices, beginning with his youth spent toiling with greasy engine parts or mucking out chicken coops. The only time he really dressed up was for formal occasions, like when he and his cousin Ben did their confirmations in the church or for a school dance when he was a teenager. Even when you got married, he wore his Dress Blues instead of a suit.

Grateful he’d packed a buttondown in his duffel, Poe changed into the shirt. Black with a subtle grey herringbone print. You jogged down from the guest room in a pair of dark jeans and a blazer, paired with bold earrings. He didn’t recognize the blazer, but he smiled, looking you up and down.

 

——

 

”Placenta? Jesus Christ...” Poe held the menu over his face to hide his disgust. “I can’t get on board with that.”

”No babe, not placenta. Polenta. It’s like cornmeal,” you giggled as Poe’s horrified expression morphed into relief. Bumping into his shoulder playfully, you teased, “You’re adorable. You know that?”

“Think of it as Italian grits.” Lando shrugged. “They put an overeasy egg on top with Hollandaise and serve it with artichoke hash. Trust me.”

”Do they have regular grits?” Poring over the menu, Poe searched for something a little less gourmet. The restaurant wasn’t as swanky as he’d worried, but it was populated by a decidedly Instagram-ready crowd of hipsters. Caffe DeLucchi itself was nice, a large colorful gallery wall of local art and raw wood made it a cozy but interesting space. No wonder Lando liked it so much, and it was only a few blocks from his home. When the meals arrived, Poe found himself much hungrier than he realized. He’d ordered the closest thing to a Southern comfort food breakfast he could find and still grabbed off your plate. 

Lando leaned across the table with a grin. “The blazer looks great on you. Aren’t you glad you listened to me and had it tailored?”

”Thank you! Yeah, I’ve never had anything tailored before except my wedding dress. It makes me feel... I dunno. Like a badass kind of?”

”Everyone needs a good tailor in their corner. And you’re very welcome. I’m glad it’s given you some confidence. You killed it.”

Quizzical look on his face, Poe’s hickory eyes darted between you and your sartorialist godfather. “What are you guys talking about?”

Smile crumbling, your hands retreated from your silverware into your lap. “I was looking into—“

”The job! With the World Health Organization!” Lando beamed, teeth practically glowing beneath his mustache. “I’m so proud of her.”

Poe couldn’t breathe, his mouth suddenly drier than the Yemeni desert he flew over. “You accepted a job here?”

Standing up from the table, you motioned to him. “Excuse us, Lando, we need to talk privately.”

 Once you were outside, Poe began pacing back and forth in front of the cafe while you leaned back against the brick exterior with arms folded. “I thought this was a breather? A little break?! You were applying for jobs? You accepted a job?!” 

”I haven’t accepted it yet. I just needed to see if I could. If they would even want me—“

”Of course they would want you!” Poe shouted, tossing his hands into the brisk air. He didn’t care about the cluster of West Coast snobs having brunch around the corner overhearing him. He didn’t care about anything else, the world had shrunk to contain only you two. “You’re brilliant! But I’m here... I want you. Not to be selfish, but I want you.”

“I don’t even know... I was looking at job listings near Okinawa, like I’ve been doing. And I started to widen my search, pretty much daydreaming, then applied to this one on a whim. It didn’t even say it was for WHO, and you know working for them is something I’ve always wanted. So when I was asked to come in for an interview, I did. And when I was asked to come in for another, I did... I never expected for them to actually want to hire me.”

”And what are you gonna say?” Poe asked, terrified of the answer. “Are you accepting the position or not?”

”This is exactly what my thesis was on: identification and control of communicable agents—“ 

Poe’s knees were going to buckle, right there on the sidewalk. He was losing you. ”You’re not answering my question.”

“They said since I was much more qualified than the other candidate, I’d get 4 days before they offered him the position.”

Taking in a deep breath, Poe calculated the time difference, remembering it was Sunday. He was expected back at Kadena on Tuesday morning, and fully expected to be on a plane with you in a few hours. Now he wasn’t so sure that was happening. Everything around him was becoming small and glazed over, like he was looking at the world through the wrong end of a spyglass. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and they felt like they were made of rubber. No. No. No, not here. Not now. Deltoid muscle twitching when you reached out and touched his shoulder, Poe stated plainly, “You weren’t planning to come home.”

“No! Babe, I am. I love you—“ Your eyes began to fill with tears as Poe turned away and began dragging his feet in scuffed boots back to Lando’s home. Neglecting your ambition was something Poe never wanted to ask of you. “No! I’m telling them no!”

Poe didn’t turn, he walked as if it was automatic, his body driven by an outside force. He didn’t have control. It didn’t matter what you said at that point, it was all a muddle of far away sounds. He withdrew, pulling into himself like a tortoise retreats into their shell for protection. Even through his foggy mind, it was clear that you wanted to put roots down here and he was unable to do that. He hated that he was trapped in a commitment to the service. He hated the idea of you languishing again in Okinawa, talents unused. He hated San Francisco and that pretentious restaurant. Maybe you were right about being broken as a couple, wanting conflicting things. Irreconcilable differences: what a hideous phrase. 

After returning to the restaurant, you and Lando discussed the issue over tart mimosas while you half-heartedly picked your meal.  It felt decadent and wrong, but Poe needed time to cool off at the house by himself, take a walk around the neighborhood or an aimless drive in his midsize rental car. Inflicting another wound was the last thing you wanted to do, and so you allowed Poe the space for reflection. 

 “You and Poe are as hard-headed as a pair of dueling rams.” Lando loosened his canary scarf and wound it around your neck when he noticed you shiver. He’d be fine in his cobalt-blue v-neck sweater for the remainder of the walk back to his house. “Indian summer. It gets chilly here but that’s okay if you like layering.”

 “He doesn’t believe me.”

”Can you blame the guy?” Lando asked. “You blew him off for a month and kept this from him? I thought you told him all about that job offer yesterday. Didn’t you talk?”

”We had a lot to cover... and every time I tried to bring it up I just couldn’t.”

”Tell me the truth.” Lando stopped abruptly on the sidewalk in front of an impeccable yard scattered with hydrangeas and gave you a pointed look. “If he didn’t come, would you have accepted it?”

”No. I always planned on returning to Poe. It was just so—“ you rummaged through your vocabulary for a delicate phrase “—It felt good to be validated. To talk about something I’m good at, excited about. I didn’t want that little dream to end so quick, so I didn’t respond yet. I started to this morning but...”

“But?”

”But I couldn’t hit send on the email. I don’t know why.” Shoulders curled in shamefully, you gazed at Lando with reddened eyes. “I’ve been horrible to Poe.” 

”That man loves you. I love you. Tell him the truth, okay? He needs to know you’re committed. I have to head to the office for a bit.” Lando squeezed your hand and opened the door to his Range Rover when you arrived at his home. Pulling out of the driveway, he gave you a small smile and casual salute through the half-open, tinted window. “Good luck, Darlin’.”

 

——

 

Arms outstretched like a scarecrow, Poe lay fully dressed over the carefully made covers of the guest room’s bed. Slowly he was returning, like a spirit being sucked back into its physical form after a near-death experience. Dissociation was like that. Cold and strange, what he imagined waking under the influence of heavy anesthesia was like.

Fingering the tassels on the ends of Lando’s scarf, you entered the room and shuffled toward Poe. “I’m not accepting it. I wrote the email this morning, to thank the project director personally for taking the time to interview me... that’s what I was doing before I came downstairs.”

Poe couldn’t answer or move yet. He felt like an arrow had been slung straight through his windpipe, as if he was one of the poor zebras on the walls running from the arrows. It finally dawned on him where he’d seen that wallpaper before, a Wes Anderson movie. What was it called again? Dammit, he was deflecting. At least he caught himself this time. His mind was running away like he was on the back of one of those fleeing zebras. 

“I asked if there was anything at all close to Okinawa. Even outside of her project.” 

Poe stared up at the ceiling as the numbness lifted. His arms still felt like rubber tools remotely operated and not integrated with the rest of his body. The mattress shifted slightly as you sat on the bed next to him and he didn’t turn to meet your eyes, though he could tell they were shimmering with tears by the catch in your throat. 

“If this is over then—“

”Poe. It’s not over between us. I want you.”

”If this is your dream job then go. You’ve worked too hard pass up this opportunity. Take the job.” Motionless, Poe felt a stream of moisture run toward his hairline just above his ear. He hadn't even realized he was crying. “I won’t hold you back anymore.”

”No. Poe, we stick together. For better or worse.”

”What if I don’t wanna be the _worse_ anymore?” He asked, folding his arms defensively across his chest. Whittling you down to be a frustrated housewife wasn’t what partnership was about. 

 “Last night when were talking, I realized how short-sighted I was being- and it wasn’t you making me feel bad, okay? It was me realizing it ‘cause it’s true. I thought I was protecting both of us from pain if I just—“

”Walked away? Started a new life without me?” Finally, Poe sat up and looked into your face. “What were you gonna do, move into this guest room? Just leave me in Japan?”

”When I was working on my Master’s and things got hard, I could see the big picture and keep going. With people, it’s not so easy. Except for Lando, they’ve always let me down, even my own parents. And that made them easy to walk away from- then I met you.” Cautiously, you moved to touch his hand and he allowed it. Warm, guitar-calloused fingertips brushed against yours. These were _his_ hands, Poe reminded himself. A part of him touching a part of you. “I never wanna leave you. You’re the only person who’s been worth sticking with when things get hard. And I’m going to stick around.”

”What were you thinking? Were you gonna tell me?” Poe’s eyes scanned the room and a boulder lodged in his throat when he realized the clues were all around him: the suit hanging on the door, the laptop you closed when he entered the room and the shoebox of new heels from Nordstrom that Lando obviously insisted on buying for you. What a fucking idiot.

 ”I wanted to. But I thought it was too soon, that you’d take it the wrong way.” 

“How else am I supposed to take it?” he muttered, looking down at your intertwined hands.

“Morbid curiosity gone too far?” You ventured. “It’s not your fault I haven’t been able to really work... I know you’d never want to hold me back.”

“Corazón? Did you mean what you said last night about being mine?” 

Drawing your brows together, you shot Poe a confused expression. He didn’t look up from your hands. “Of course. I want to belong to you. Always.”

“And you won’t hate me when you’re bored in Japan again? ‘Cause you will get bored. Kadena is boring.”

“It is, but you’re not.” You shrugged. “Baze and Chirruit said they wanted to start doing a kinsugi class at the workshop, maybe I’ll help with that. Or curate a ceramics exhibition. And if I’m still bored then we’ll figure out where to go from there.”

Lip quivering, Poe stared at the ring finger on your left hand. Two rings stacked there, a simple gold band that belonged to his mother and a solitaire he got for you. One to say you were his family now, one to say you were the most brilliant thing in his life. Searching for the words to respond, he came up empty. That rarely happened to Poe, his tongue always quick to retort or strategize except when it came to this. Except when it came to you. 

“I’ve wronged you and I’m truly sorry. I hope that one day you can forgive me... but I promise you. I promise, I’m in it. Salt and pepper. Vega and Altair. We’re a set and we belong together.”

Poe didn’t fight it when you leaned on him, pulled in a shaky gasp, then closed your arms around his body. You pushed him down, lying side by side, each curled into the fetal position to face the other. Hands gripping his, your foreheads pushed together and you shared the same shallow breath. He wanted to trust you. Did that make him a fool? Did it matter if he was? 

“I’m not giving up on us. I promise,” you whispered.

Most people have a lighter ring of color around the pupil, a hoop of sky blue or gold. Poe’s were solid all the way through, sometimes darkening so much it was hard to distinguish where the border of his chestnut irises met the pool of the pupil. Deep and ambiguous, your husband’s eyes were like that now. Poe scooted closer into your embrace and you reached your bottom hand into hair, top arm slung over his ribs. He curled his spine tight and nuzzled his forehead into your sternum. Like he wanted to hide from the world in you. Shoulders shaking as he wept, Poe buried his face in the yellow scarf you’d borrowed. Deep voice muffled by the fabric, he assured you through his own tears. “I’m not giving up on us either. Never.”

“Poe... I wanna go home.” 

 

——

 

San Francisco International was noisy and crowded, even more crowded than a typical airport and Poe had seen his share of them over the years. Frazzled staff were bustling around, attempting to soothe irate passengers. Families seemed to park their luggage right in the middle of the walkways, squinting at the departures and directional signs. The terminal was outfitted with large sections of sunroof shaped like leaves, sending windows of afternoon light onto the sea of human bodies. 

The group stopped, and Lando released the handle on your suitcase to sling an arm around you. "Are you sure? I'm happy to wait with you if you're not sure you're getting seats."

"No, no. Space-A flights are a bit of a pain in the ass but I'm sure we'll be okay. If not we'll call." 

"Can I at least treat you to a Cinnabon?" he asked, pearly grin tempting you to allow him one more gift. Lando didn't have children of his own and as such prided himself on being the guy who spoiled his younger family at every opportunity. You were already carting home the tailored suit and heels he'd splurged on at Nordstrom, the total at the register nearly making you choke with shock as he waived his Mastercard ladistically and flirted with the sales clerk. 

"Thanks but I always get sick on planes. Nerves. It's best if I go with an empty stomach and have a snack once we've been in the air for a while."

Adjusting the strap on his duffel bag, Poe interjected, "She's terrified of flying and married a fighter pilot. The irony isn't lost on us."

Lando chuckled, "Would you feel safer if Poe was the one behind the controls?"

Pausing a beat, you turned to face the ex-pilot as his face crinkled in a smile. "He'd do a barrel roll or something to mess with me."

"I'd never!" With faux offense, he slapped a wide hand over his chest and winked. "Well, maybe. Just one."

Lando's gaze passed between you and he squeezed you arm encouragingly. "Love you guys, take care of each other. And call me when you land. I don't care what time it is."

Misty-eyed hugs were followed by another round of goodbyes and another appeal to buy you a cup of coffee or a novel to read before the flight. Thanking him profusely for all he'd done for you over the last month, you bid Lando a farewell and he began to made his way back toward the shuttles before jogging back and tossing his yellow scarf around your neck. "Keep smiling, Darlin'. Things are gonna work out alright, just you wait and see."

Poe noticed the Homeland Security Advisory poster near the TSA lines were marked to orange. High risk of terrorist attacks. He'd never seen it jump higher than yellow, and he'd certainly never seen it relax into the blue or green spaces on the threat chart. After navigating the metal detectors, he clasped your hand and walked toward your gate as a sense of uneasiness came over him. Swarms of passengers filled the seats, murmuring in discontent or scolding whining children. People scowled into their phone screens and some appeared to have been there so long, they'd set up temporary camp with travel pillows and boxes of food. Televisions mounted throughout the area droned on low volume, red ticker-tape headlines sliding across the bottom of the screen in between commercials for anti-depressants. Squeezing your hand tighter, he gnawed at the inner lining of his cheek and searched for a chair, at least one for you since it looked like they might be there a while. After several unfruitful minutes, you decided to kill time by browsing the news stand. 

Dense with text, the Sunday edition of the New York Times sat front and center. Poe began to walk past it toward the motorcycle restoration magazines while you broke off to locate an issue of TIME, until the soles of his boots squeaked against the floor as he stopped in front of the display rack.

_US Air Force Base Death Toll Uncertain, Houthi and ISIS Claim Joint Credit_

Another headline in a neighboring publication read, "Orchestrated Attacks Across Yemen, Hundreds Dead". Yet another, that made Poe want to throw up: "President Denies US Combat Involvement in Yemeni Civil War". What the fuck? He wondered how he could have possibly missed this then remembered how this weekend was laser-focused on repairing your relationship. Between that task and the jet lag, Poe hadn’t even been on his phone and certainly wasn’t watching Tv. 

Heart into a nosedive, he searched for where, who. Crumbling buildings and anonymous, ABU-clad soldiers populated the photos and he couldn't make out if it was the base at Al Anad where Bodhi, Cassian and the rest of the 44th Fighter Squadron had just landed. The fighter squadron that, according to politicians, wasn't really there. Just a few months earlier he'd been in a dogfight over the Port of Midi and it was a slap in the face to see the truth twisted so blatantly. Frantic eyes scanned the photos of each newspaper on the stand.

"Babe? Are you getting a..." Voice trailing off as you read the bold headline of the paper in Poe's grip, the blood drained from your face. "No."

Struggling to swallow, Poe unfolded the paper and scanned the article. "Violent escalation", "Contradicting Pentagon statements", "Suicide attack in hangar killed dozens". He handed a wrinkled twenty to the clerk and paid for your magazine and the New York Times in a daze, silently nodding as he stuffed the change into the pocket of his jeans.  

"Pilots died," he somberly spoke after deciding to sit on the floor next to his duffel bag. You sat on your suitcase next to Poe and gently rubbed his back. "There was an explosion in the hangar, cost a bunch of planes and gear. Killed a bunch of people."

Yemen was a nightmare. Ravaged by drone attacks and mass hunger, the poorest country in the Arab world had been at civil war for years. Poe didn't want to go back- Hell, he wasn't convinced that any American troops should even be there other than to escort humanitarian aid- but he'd shouldered so much guilt over it. When you're part of a team, you have their six. No matter what. And Poe knew how quickly a mission could turn sour, they could use another set of eyes up there. Now he found himself praying that his team was safe. Mental pictures of Cass and Bodhi being thrown by the force of a spark igniting JP-8 made him ill. Was he sweating? It felt like he was sweating. He should've been there. But if he had been, he wouldn't be sitting next to you right now. He might be in pieces. Cassian might be in pieces. Holy Fuck. 

"I texted Jyn to see if she has any news. She hasn't responded yet," you told Poe. Your phone was open to Facebook and a photo of her and Cassian appeared as you scrolled through, Jyn holding up her left hand with an ecstatic laugh as Cassian's dimples made an appearance. So Cass had listened to him and decided to propose before deployment, after all. Poe’s stomach contorted again, practically becoming a balloon animal, and he watched you tap out a congratulations with a string of emojis like modern heiroglyphics. Poe kissed your temple softly and tried to reign in the dark thoughts in his imagination. 

An announcement crackled over the speakers and you approached the gate to board. Once your nerves had settled after takeoff- and a second Xanax- you made a nest of the scarf and rested your head against Poe's shoulder. Playing the _Brothers_ album by The Black Keys, he removed one earbud to share with you. Together you listened to the distorted voice and blues-infused guitar riffs, trying to process and not get ahead of yourselves before you knew the facts. Poe's hand kept reaching up automatically to touch the pendant just under the second button of his herringbone shirt. Half force of habit, half appeal to the saint to keep his friends safe. When you noticed, you squeezed his fingers and he forced a thin smile in response. 

During the flight to Okinawa from San Francisco, Poe thought a lot about goodbyes. About closure, whatever that is. 

Setting the wire basket of eggs on the kitchen counter as Shara pushed his mop of black waves aside to give him a rushed kiss on the forehead. He sprinted across the yard to catch the bus in the second grade, barely acknowledging the “have a good day at school” his mother shouted after him. No one could have known about the aneurysm waiting to claim her life only hours later. It took Poe a long time to forgive himself for not saying a proper goodbye that morning. How angry he’d been at that little eight year old boy, procrastinating on his morning chore of fetching eggs because the rooster frightened him. If he hadn’t procrastinated, he wouldn’t have been in a rush. He would’ve looked into his mother’s kind russet eyes and told her he loved her, wished her a pleasant day as well.

Poe recalled the last interaction he had with his father, Kes. Eyes distant, morphine pump softly beeping as he struggled to draw oxygen into tumor-ridden lungs. He didn’t seem to understand much, that was the trade-off for his comfort at the end. Even when Poe received his long-waited orders to begin initial flight training, Kes just responded with that glassy stare. As if that wasn’t the proudest moment of Poe’s life up to that point. The nurse had called him, and Poe rushed from the base at MacDill to the Hospice immediately. Leia was there, holding her brother’s hand as her body was crumpled into a chair next to the bed. No heartfelt deathbed conversation, no peaceful retreat into eternity surrounded by generations of loved ones. Just Leia and Poe, eyes reddened, watching Kes sleep for hours as his chest made awful noises. Then, the noises stopped. God, the worst sound Poe had ever heard in his life was that silence.

Poe couldn't stand silence right now. He found comfort in his playlist, in the warmth of your body leaning against his, in the view of the clouds through the window. Sixteen hours to go, across the Pacific. Your issue of TIME sat on the tray table attached to the seat in front of you, a haunted child peering out from the cover. Dirty fingers wrapped around a filthy and unidentifiable stuffed animal, chunks of rebar rising from what presumably used to be his bedroom in the background. "The Youngest Victims of Modern Chemical Warfare: a report by Suralinda Javos with photo essay by L'ulo L'ampar". It was hard to look at. And Poe wondered how stained his own hands were when it came to civillian casualties and felt nauseated all over again. Was he even really on the right side? How much had he and his squad-mates been lied to? Nothing felt concrete, it was all up in the air. 

Up in the air. Fifteen hours. Up in the air. Fourteen hours. Up in the air. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeaaaah, cliffhanger ending! Do you think the 44th Squadron was affected by the attacks? 
> 
> How do you think Corazón can earn Poe’s trust back?
> 
> Comment and speculate!


	7. We’re Luminous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the US officially enters the war, Poe attempts to regain his sense of greater purpose and wrangles some heavy emotion. You try to help him find the light amidst darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major Angst™️ and some talk of blood/violence ahead, proceed with caution.
> 
> Chapter Soundtrack:
> 
> White Light by Geri X: https://open.spotify.com/track/1rMYrlJR10rG3bfWfnID7H?si=-ROhZ2yPTX2aIs3wgX_3Nw

Drifting again, Poe was a kite on a shredded string, one strong gust away from being severed entirely. His body went through crude movements below but he was really up above. 

Baze and Chirruit pulled into the airport queue, and Poe loaded your luggage into their car before he squeezed himself into the backseat. Baze was a man whose face appeared to be hewn from rock, his hair pulled back into a dark ponytail and eyes squinting at the horizon as he drove. Chirruit was in more of a friendly mood. 

“We’re getting close, yes?” Chirruit asked his boyfriend. The slim man had a long, polished face with milky eyes. How Cheer could keep such an impressive mental map while having severely limited vision was always amazing to Poe. The two owned a ceramics studio, teaching workshops and running a fine art gallery in Okinawa where you learned to throw pottery and eventually had a sold-out exhibition. Chirruit was the helm of a successful company that designed screen-reader interfaces for the blind before selling his share to invest in the studio with Baze. After that point, two never looked back- neither metaphorically nor literally. 

Poe informed them of the need to stop by Jyn’s home in Okinawa to pick up B.B. before heading to the base. The men made conversation with you about the Kinsugi gift Poe had gotten you, with their input, and he looked out the window as you spoke. Nearly raw inside, his cheek had been chewed on since he ran out of cinnamon gum and he was gnawing at it again, the soft flesh growing puffy between his teeth. With each mile, Poe felt his muscles tense with anxiety. No text back from Bodhi or Cassian yet, which wouldn’t have been so concerning when he accounted for the time difference and how hectic things must be then. But Jyn... Jyn not answering your text instilled a deep sense of dread. 

Neither you nor Poe knew if Jyn was even home, so you asked Baze to wait a moment when you arrived at her apartment building. If she was, she’d give you a ride the rest of the way, but if not you’d retrieve B.B. using the spare key and follow up her later. 

Her expression said it all when the door cracked open after a series of quick raps. Red eyes, brunette hair in a low, disheveled bun, mascara smeared under her hazel eyes. Poe swallowed hard as she sprung into your arms with a wail that formed a layer of frost within his veins. He was no longer remote, floating above- he was crashing down. Spiraling. Poe felt like he was gonna hit the ground so hard, his body would shatter into nothing more than a collection of atoms. 

“Jyn... Oh God, no? No.”

Shaking her head, Jyn was speechless. She hung onto you like the momentum of the Earth spinning would fling her into the cruel void of space. On her hand the new engagement ring sparkled, and Poe stared at it.

No. Cassian couldn’t be dead. He was marrying Jyn. He was still young. He wasn’t done with life yet so he certainly couldn’t be dead, reason wouldn’t allow it. It didn’t make any sense. Possibilities fluttered through Poe’s mind to explain the phenomenon, like a clerical error where a set of numbers were transposed and Cassian was believed to be the victim because of a typo. But when he examined those, each one crumbled to dust. It was true. Everything he’d worried about for the last day true. And as much as Poe tried to mentally prepare himself for the possibility, it still ran over him like a tank. 

He jogged back to the car, hanging his head when he reached the passenger-side window where Chirruit sat. Poe couldn’t say it. Heavy as iron, the words lodged in his throat. 

“Your friend? He didn’t—“

”Could you open the trunk please?” Poe cut him off, a tense vibrato in his deep voice. He didn’t want to be rude but keeping on task was the only thing stopping him from dismantling. “I think we’re gonna stay here tonight.”

Baze removed a hand from the steering wheel and squeezed Chirruit’s before releasing the trunk hatch. In a woeful tone, he spoke. “I’m sorry, Poe.”

He slammed the trunk of the car and gave Baze a nod, mouth hardened into a frown as he forced himself to remain composed for Jyn’s sake. Poe wheeled your bag toward the door, dragging it up a set of steps. Drawing in a deep breath, he tried to steady himself before stepping through. You were holding Jyn on the couch, arms wrapped tight as her shoulders trembled in silence. B.B. pranced at his feet, thin tail a blur of movement as Poe reached down to pat his head.

Slumping down on a kitchen chair, Poe watched your face. He could only see you from the nose up, the rest of your face obscured by Jyn’s hair and shoulder. Your own eyes were filled with tears, despite not knowing Cass well. Crumpled napkins were strewn across the table, black streaks of eyeliner marring the white paper. A half-eaten bowl of soup still sat there, obviously untouched for some time judging by the film over the top. They told a narrative that Jyn was probably eating when the officers knocked on her door. A mundane daily event interrupted by the worst news of her life. Poe didn’t know what he was supposedly to do with himself, but he needed to move so he cleared the table and began to hand wash all the dishes in the sink. 

First he scrubbed slowly, almost absentmindedly. Then it became deliberate when he felt a stubborn piece of food on a plate, harder and harder. Poe zeroed in on this, saw it as a mission to complete. Anything to avoid the darkness that coiled around his chest when he allowed himself to think of his former commander. He scratched at the plate until the force of his own soapy hand sent the china flying across the sink. Clanking loudly against the metal, the white disk split clean in half, and Poe flinched with surprise. The very world had cracked, split into two categories: before and after. He reached into the sink and recovered the pieces, wishing that repairing the world was as easy as the Kinsugi technique you used to mend the china and pottery with gold. Glancing up, it seemed his clumsiness had gone unnoticed, so he dropped the pieces into the trash and decided not to mention it. 

When you finally did make eye contact with him across the room, Poe’s heart clenched. He remembered you telling him about how terrified you both were when reports of that downed F-16 came in earlier in the year. Jyn hadn’t heard from Cassian, you hadn’t heard from Poe. All you could say was no news was good news and wait. Sobs rang from your throat when Poe called days later, and you demanded Poe tell Cassian to call his girlfriend immediately. Poe recognized the look in your eye: guilt. Your partner survived, hers didn’t.

Shame threatened to hollow Poe. He knew there was nothing he could have done to change the outcome of the bombing, but it chipped at him incessantly. Was his traumatic brain injury some twisted from of luck? Did seizures save his life?

What Cass told him at the send-off barbecue haunted Poe:  _There’s no one I’d rather have watching my six_. 

You crossed the room and rubbed Poe’s back, leading him to the couch with you and Jyn. Head leaning on him, you squeezed Jyn’s fingers until they paled from the pressure. 

“It was supposed to be a secret,” she sputtered out after her tear ducts were depleted. “But we got married just before he left. Cass said he had a real bad feeling about this, and wanted to make sure I’d be taken care of if...”

”He told me the same thing, about wanting to make sure you were provided for,” Poe confirmed. “Cass loves you.”

Loves? Present-tense? When do you stop referring to someone in the present tense? When does it feel right to modify language when speaking of the dead? It didn't feel right to use the past tense for him so soon. 

Poe believed no one was ever truly gone, that a piece of them lived on either through our memory or in a spiritual realm. He was unsure whether to tick the demographic box for Catholic or Agnostic, though his Aunt Leia would give him an earful if she knew that. Straddling somewhere between the two, Poe found agnosticism to be a good fit for his honest nature, though the ritual of the Church still resonated on a powerful level. But Heaven was real, the optimist in him knew that much, although Poe didn’t envision a cumulous-cloud paradise with a harp soundtrack. Cassian was a “capital C” Catholic but he wouldn’t have cared too much for a place like that, anyway.  

Jyn seemed to deflate further at the inappropriate choice of verb, and Poe wondered if she was a woman of faith. She didn’t strike him as such, but he wasn’t about to whip out a platitude regardless. They didn’t help anyone feel better but the person who regurgitated them. 

“And... I thought you were just engaged?” you asked as B.B. licked the back of Jyn’s hand. Even the dog seemed desperate to alleviate even a small portion of her pain. 

“Engaged and married in the same weekend. We were gonna have a nice reception in Albuquerque when his tour ended.” Jyn mumbled the explanation with a sense of bewilderment, as if it just dawned on her that dancing with her new husband to Tejano and blushing as his brother gave an embarrassing toast wasn’t going to happen. Instead of a celebration gathering their families together, it would be a remembrance. 

Acting on instinct, Poe enveloped her in a hug. Jyn wasn’t the type to be affectionate with anyone but Cass, and limited hugs to special occasions, but she allowed it. Poe didn’t know what else to do, how to form words that could possibly express what he felt. 

Expected back at his desk job at 07:00, Poe offered to take a cab home by himself if you needed to stay with Jyn overnight. He knew she could be quite guarded, like Cassian, and didn’t want to impose. Tears drenched the pillow she cradled, though it was clear she has begun to pull her feelings back inside herself. She'd cried herself to sleep the night before, that night when two officers showed up at her doorstep in Okinawa and she felt her life go grayscale. It would be the same tonight and for the foreseeable future. Salt stained the pillowcase Cass used, expanding like carnation petals with his widow’s tears. Jyn Erso was both a widow and a newlywed now.

Summoning a frail smile as she thanked you, Jyn insisted you go home with Poe and that she needed some space. Reluctant to leave, you hugged her again and promised to return in the morning. She wasn't in a state to drive, so Poe called a cab and waited in silence outside as you pressed into Jyn's aching chest, her despondent eyes illustrating just how much she needed rest. He felt like an asshole just being there, like his existence was somehow offensive to the memory of her partner. When the car pulled up, you left with Poe and B.B., gaze fixed on the square of light from her kitchen as it accelerated away from the building. 

"Babe, are you alright?"

Knuckles whitening around the handle of the duffel bag on his lap, Poe didn't answer right away. He was far from alright, but wondered how much of a burden to place on you. One of your closest friends just lost her husband, the circumstances of which hit close to home for a fellow military spouse. Maybe he should compartmentalize this, save it for his next session with Dr. Kenobi. No doubt the bearded psychologist would force him to dredge the depths of his grief once he found out. “I’m okay. Just gimme a minute.”

Losing Cassian unearthed feelings of profound loss barely covered with the soil of daily living. Both Poe’s parents. Your pregnancy. His wings. Turns out they were just under the surface. Life forced him to continue living, so he covered them well as possible and kept moving. But emotions like that can’t stay buried indefinitely. 

-——

Gabriel seemed like a good kid. Poe guessed his age to be about 21, roughly 15 years younger than Cassian but they shared the same pointy chin. He lingered in the doorway of the side entrance to the church, shifting his weight between his feet in what were obviously brand new oxfords. "Hey, can I have a drag?" 

Poe handed the young man his cigarette before folding the eulogy back into his pocket. "Just don't tell my wife."

"Just don't tell my mom," Gabriel echoed. He had the same mannerisms as his older brother, the same elongated fingers around the filter. Poe knew they were close and he'd heard stories and updates about him. “I may be an adult but part of me still lives in fear of la chancla.”

Singular but authentic, a huff of a laugh escaped Poe. Somehow the kid managed to find humor even in the bleakest time, and the ex-pilot decided he liked him. Gabriel passed it back and after Poe took another drag, he straightened the collar of his dress blues. Albuquerque was somehow even hotter than Poe expected, but then he realized his sweating was more about public speaking than the temperature. 

Poe had stuffed all his visceral emotions into a straight jacket, allowing only anger the freedom to move through him. Over two weeks had passed since the attack, and tears still hadn’t fallen for Cassian, though he cried when he confronted you in San Francisco. Ugly images scorched his mind and he was on edge, always. He ate little and made minor mistakes at work. Poe wondered if he was cracking like the plate in Jyn’s sink the night he found out, and hid the cinematic flashes of violence from Dr. Kenobi. At least if Poe was cracking, you were there to reassemble him. 

Locating you in a pew a few rows behind Cassian's parents and his siblings, Poe took a seat and leaned into you. Smoke clung to his clothes but you ignored it. "Are you ready?”

"Not really, not for this," he muttered as the pipe organ filled the wooden expanse of the church with heavy notes. 

With a tender nod and a squeeze of his hand, you encouraged him. “Just be yourself.”

The family had asked him to deliver part of the eulogy, being the only member of the squadron able to. Bodhi had been airlifted to a hospital in Germany, while Hux and two more pilots had perished in the attack. Poe was honored that Cassian’s parents would trust a stranger to speak of their son this way, and Gabriel explained it was because Cass told them about Poe. That he felt like a brother. 

Poe sat through the service, fixated on the framed photo of Cass and the flag-draped casket flanked by gaudy floral arrangements. The pollen was bothering his eyes, or so he kept telling himself when they burned with moisture. Mortuary services assured Jyn that Cassian didn’t feel any pain. That it was instantaneous, as if that was supposed to make her feel better. She knew how important tradition was for her husband and his family, and pressed for a viewing and an open casket. When the funeral director declined, they explained there wasn’t enough of him recovered for a reconstructive techniques and she knew it must’ve been true. No burning to death, no choking on smoke or fading from blood loss.

Death came to collect Cassian in a swift, spectacular way. He was blown apart. 

Jyn admitted she actually took odd comfort in the knowledge, and Poe supposed there was validity to that mindset. But seeing a closed oak casket only highlighted one more thing the Andor family had taken from them: a chance to look upon the face of their son and say goodbye. It infuriated Poe to think the people responsible for the attack were denying Cass right to be laid to rest on his terms. 

Soon the priest motioned to Poe and he blew a tense stream of air through pursed lips as you kissed his cheek. Standing before the sullen faces of the extended Andor family made him woozy. He stood behind the podium like it was a bulletproof shield and pulled his shoulders back stiffly before speaking. 

"I'm Captain Poe Dameron, and Cassian was my commanding officer in the 44th fighter squadron. When I heard about what happened in Yemen, it made me think of something my aunt told me after my mom passed. She said we're not this—" Poe gestured to his body, relaxing somewhat "—we're not just flesh and bone. We're more than  _stuff_. We're luminous. Cass isn't here with us right now but that doesn't mean he's gone.

"He was cranky, kind, and tough on his squad because he knew pushing us would make us better. He was one of the finest pilots I've ever seen- and I was raised with pilots- and if he saw a way to help someone, he'd take it. Pretty good cook, too." Poe paused, noticing that anecdote brought a smile to a few relatives. His eyes dipped down the creased paper in front of him then back out to the faces in front.  "But most of all, he was my friend. Wanna talk about luminous? Cassian Andor was luminous. The stuff might be gone, but he's not. We can feel him, shining away." Poe's throat caught and his head bobbed a couple times as he folded the paper and stuffed it back into his pants pocket. 

Mass started after Cassian’s oldest sister spoke, and Poe found himself grateful that the stories about his friend were replaced with predictable liturgy. His hickory eyes stayed fixed on the framed portrait of Cassian in his dress blues with a combination cap, sharply handsome, with rounded brows offsetting otherwise angular features. When he finally couldn’t look at his face, Poe focused on the plethora of colors in the stained glass. Blocks of indigo and emerald followed the streams of light, playing off the hair or dark clothing of the people in the pew just ahead. 

Smoke wafted through the air as the priest swung a golden censer around. The frankincense conjured memories of lighting candles for Shara and kneeling in the sanctuary with Aunt Leia when Kes was in Bosnia to pray for his safety. Leia believed in divine intervention, so Poe accompanied her and Ben to mass every Sunday when he lived with them during Kes’s deployments. He might not consider himself a full-fledged Catholic anymore but the ritual was still woven into his personal history. Milestones marked by the familiar call and response and the ancient pattern of sitting, standing, kneeling. 

Picking at his cuticles all day, Poe inadvertently peeled a ribbon of skin back. Exposed, the angry layer of flesh underneath slowly pushed blood to the surface and he watched it dome around the edge of the skin. It should’ve stung, but he couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t really make out what the priest was saying, either. Instead he just stared at the crimson line blankly. A Kleenex was drabbed over it and he looked up at you in a mild daze. You laid a hand over his to still the restless fingers and Poe sighed, balling the tissue in his other palm until the service was complete. 

Twenty-one shots fired into the desert sky sent his friend off with honors. The flag was folded in to sharp corners and handed to a stoic Jyn. Handfuls of rich soil were dropped by Cassian’s closest family, and then you and Poe found yourself in the living room of his sister's suburban home.

Poe congregated with Gabriel and a few other male members of the family while you expressed your sympathies to the others. Cassian's grandmother fussed over a tray of tamales, corralling a group of five young children and imploring them to eat. She was barely composed, the deep lines of her face etched with pain at the loss. Taking a stack of plates, you began to assist her as she spooned dollops of refried beans and rice, asking if she was the one who taught Cass the art of Mexican cooking. Face lighting up, she recounted the time he got a little too ambitious with deep-frying flautas and started a fire.

Across the room, Jyn smiled weakly with Cassian’s parents but she still had that glazed look in her eyes. The man she loved was dead and she was trying to be polite to his surviving family when all she wanted to do was allow herself to gnash her teeth and scream and break down. He could see she was teetering on the edge, understandably so. 

Someone turned on the television, a blip of a news segment about establishing the temporary base in Qatar as a new, full-fledged base in light of the damage to Al Anad. The US had officially joined the war now, despite the administration's refusal to acknowledge the combat overseas just two weeks earlier. A recruitment push had begun, and Poe had heard rumors about who they needed in Qatar. Pundits on either side of the political spectrum were debating the opening of the new base, the show's host acting as a referee when things inevitably got heated.

"Turn that off!" Cassian's father snapped. Laced with fury, they were the first words Poe heard the man speak. Poe turned to see the man cradling a weeping Jyn to his chest, grizzled fingers resting over her hair. Another sharp stab of pain wrenched through his heart when he realized Cassian’s father was protecting her. The two were so alike. “I said off. Now." 

The channel was quickly changed to a cartoon for the children, who gathered in front with plates full of tamale. Nieces in pale dresses and frilly socks. Nephews in stiff suits with clip-on ties. Poe watched the youngest members of the Andor family grow restless at the somber mood of the reception, bickering among themselves and whining to their distracted parents. Pulling the folded eulogy from his pocket, Poe got an idea and whispered it to Cassian's brother before getting down on one knee in front of the group. "Who wants to play outside?"

"Are you a hero like my tio?" A boy asked, eyes wide as disks as he looked up at Poe. “A pilot?”

"Um, I was a pilot. Not as good, though. He was super smart and really, really fast."

A girl butt in front of him, clothed in a floral dress. "Why not? Did they kick you off the team? Ramon had to quit the soccer team 'cause he wouldn't stop kicking the other kids in the—“

"Hey!" He shoved his sister with both hands but she remained standing. "They just wanted fouls! I only kicked Kayla for real, the rest were just pretending."

"You shouldn't be hurting anyone," Poe said gently, "especially not girls. I know your tio wouldn't like you beating up other kids."

"So why did they kick you out?" The girl pressed, clearly the more extroverted of the two.

"I didn't get kicked out, I got hurt."

"My mom said Tio Cass got blown up, that's why the box he was in was closed. Usually the box is open and you can see the person dead inside," the girl explained loudly. "Did you almost get blown up?"

Unsure how to respond, his mouth hung agape. Until then, Poe had seen them as somewhat naive to the truth of laying Cassian to rest. He figured they were told things about their uncle being in a better place, not the ugly fact that his body was so badly mangled in the blast that a closed casket service was the only option. Gabriel swiped a handful of paper from a printer in his sister's home office and motioned for the group of children to follow him outside and Poe was grateful for the redirection.

Standing in the grass, the men taught the children how to fold paper airplanes before holding a contest to see who could launch it the farthest, who could throw theirs the highest. Giggles and engine noises ensued, and the activity provided a welcome distraction for all, through Poe couldn't help but look into the faces of Cassian's little cousins and nephews without imagining the face of a child born to him and Jyn. Cass would never get that. Pangs of wanting his own child hit Poe, and he tried to imagine the smile of a child that was a mixture of your genes and his. Saying goodbye to his friend brought Poe's own desire for a family into question. When he thought about having a baby together, he pictured things like storybooks at bedtime and macaroni artwork. Now he was forced to confront the sobering possibility that if you had a child and Poe died, you’d be left behind with the responsibility. Just like Kes was after Shara was lost.

Plate in hand, you stood under the awning of the backyard and listened as a little girl, about 10, boasted at having the greatest distance. Not to be outdone, her brother shoved her aside and claimed the achievement as Gabriel stood between them to judge again. Poe strode up and accepted it. "Thanks for taking care of me."

"Sweet of you to play with them," you answered. "Their parents can't really handle the energy right now."

"How's Jyn holdin’ up?”

"She’s gonna stay with Cass’s parents for a little while, and I think that's a good idea." Jyn wasn't Air Force, she was civilian contracted out for IT work and as such, wasn't obligated to stay in Okinawa. It had been her home for years and how she met her husband, but she didn't want to stay anymore. Guiding a forkful of rice to his mouth, Poe agreed with a murmur. Together you watched the group play, sprinting across dry grass in Sunday school shoes in pursuit of the planes. Younger kids got a little more attention from Gabriel as they attempted to fold the paper into aerodynamic shapes. Poe noticed he had the same dimples as Cass, in addition to the chin. Neither of you acknowledged news that the war was only beginning to heat up.

——

He didn’t remember how it happened exactly. One minute you were stroking Poe’s arm as he blankly stared at the television in the hotel room. Karate Kid, one of his all-time favorite movies, was on and he was still bleary-eyed and fully dressed from the funeral earlier that day. When you left to grab some takeout, Poe’s self control must’ve left with you. 

It wasn’t that he felt abandoned- he didn’t. He couldn’t imagine how awful it would be to do this alone. And he didn’t mean to take advantage of the small window of privacy, but it happened anyway. Scenes of a showdown with Cobra Kai on the TV were replaced by footage of the scorched hangar where the explosion happened. Like rubbernecking at the scene of a gruesome accident, Poe couldn’t tear his eyes away. And in his defense, the minibar _was_ just sitting there. 

You returned with a bag full of burgers and two fizzy drinks, setting them on the table next to the key card. The room was sparse, a black and white photo of a cactus flower above the queen bed, lit by the glow of the television. Instantly you recognized it was the news and slapped your hand over the power button. Poe pursed his lips and reached for the remote on the bedside table, which was littered with bottles already. In the time you were gone, he’d cleared half the minibar and had no intention of slowing his pace. 

“I thought you were watching Karate Kid,” you chided. “You shouldn’t be watching... that. It’s not healthy.”

”Neither is McDonald’s.” 

“Shit! How many of those did you have while I was gone? I was only out for like 20 minutes. They’re like $15 a piece.”

Realizing he lost count, Poe shrugged. He’d just lost a friend and numbness was worth the expense. 

“Drinking alone, watching Yemen burn on CNN.” Crossing to the bed, you caressed Poe’s cheek and he closed his eyes, nuzzling into your palm. “Babe, just... it’s okay to feel this. I know you’re trying to keep it together but it’s okay to hurt.”

Suppressing his tears since he locked eyes with Jyn two weeks ago, Poe had tried to stuff it down. Today sorrow had breached his defenses and Poe was afraid he wasn’t strong enough to deal with it. He felt stronger now, temporarily so, as the alcohol coursed through his bloodstream. Your hand slid off his cheek and you stepped away, reaching for the zipper on the back of your dress. “Eat something.”

Poe watched you peel off the black fabric and change into pajamas through glassy eyes.

You gestured to the fast food bag, “At least eat a little. You’ve barely eaten.”

Whatever greasy food was in the bag was inconsequential. He wasn’t hungry, didn’t want to think or to feel. The buzz was doing a fine job of numbing his body and marinating his brain but grief still shook him in its icy grasp. Hitting the breaking point was inevitable but he still struggled to reach it. Something inside him always sensed it was okay to be vulnerable and honest with you. It was alright to cry, to whisper his memories and fears into your hair. You stepped toward him and leaned across his body, hovering over his face. His cheeks were flushed, eyes heavy. Maybe the tears could finally fall tonight, now that he’d watched the wooden box containing scraps of his friend get lowered into the ground. 

A seed of hope was embedded deep in his chest and if he could just rip himself open to expose it, he would. Or if it was a seed, was it supposed to germinate and rip through him? 

“If you can’t, it’s okay,” you whispered. “Just take that off and let me hold you.”

And he did, although it felt like shedding armor. He stripped down to his boxers and a tank before climbing back into the bed with you. Curling into a tight c shape, he faced you and closed his eyes. Fingertips trailed the scar under his right eye as your lips grazed the middle of his forehead, the tip of his large nose, the center of his chin.

As if to allow each one permission to overflow, you kissed over both eyelids. The act felt sacred, full of love so genuine it could endure this heartbreak. In your arms, in the bed of a budget hotel, Poe felt like a child, tucked close for safety in his parent’s bed during a thunderstorm. He pulled the comforter over both of your heads to seal in this effect, building a little tent for secrecy. A safe place, away from the grief and the news and life on base at Kadena. 

Lip wavering, he breathed your name. 

“I’m here. I’ve got you.”

”Don’t... don’t leave me.” 

Brushing his hair aside, you pressed a delicate kiss to his lips again. Poe’s hand skimmed up and down your arm and a cascade of tears threatened to burst free at any moment. You promised, “I won’t. Eres mi todo.”

”Eres mi todo.” _You’re my everything_. 

Silence settled between your bodies, exchanged air warming the intimate space within the fabric fortress he erected.

The first tear fell.

Then another. 

Time seemed manipulated by the disorienting grief. It was unclear if minutes passed or hours passed while he wept in your arms. Poe’s straining eyes formed twin rivers before you gently wiped them away with a thumb. You kissed him on the eyelids again, this time they were moist and salty. Poe didn’t feel his sorrow or rage evaporate, but he let himself cry over his squad mate. His friend. He let himself mourn, pawed at your bare skin and sobbed into your chest. 

Quietly, he pulled himself back. 

”Even if I go back, you won’t leave again?”

“Wait.” The question made your eyes widen, though in the dark under the comforter you couldn’t discern his expression. “What do you mean ‘go back’?”

”Qatar. The new base.”

“You shouldn't make this decision when you're—“

“Drunk?”

You sighed, “Contaminated by grief. Or drunk, yeah... but what’s most dangerous is seeking vengeance. That’s the one that scares me.”

Was he seeking vengeance? It didn’t feel like it. It felt like he was seeking hope. Qatar held the possibility of a fresh start, a renewal of the flame within him that had been nearly extinguished. Hope was a flickering ember. He could be luminous again. Fly again. Do something meaningful. Poe couldn’t just sit by and watch entire villages get poisoned on the news without doing something. But it scared you- as it should’ve scared him. On some level he knew his motives were shaded with anger but he couldn’t acknowledge that now. Right now he clung to hope. 

“Will you stay with me? Even if I’m sent to the new base?”

His question was answered by you rolling forward into his arms, soaking in the warmth of his tan skin. No more space existed between you; the cracks were being filled in slowly- deliberately- with gold.  “Of course.”

“And you’ll wait with Lando?”

“No. We stay together.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The eulogy was borrowed from Issue #14 of the Poe Dameron comic.
> 
> ——
> 
> How do you think Poe is going to react to Corazón insisting they stay together, physically, if he leaves? 
> 
> What other kinds of emotions about family do you think he’s dealing with, especially after spending time with Cassian’s young family members? After seeing Jyn become a widow?


	8. Occupational Hazards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You give Poe an ultimatum; He feels mounting anxiety over the prospect of being transferred to Qatar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mention of blood/violence
> 
> Chapter Soundtrack:
> 
> If You Have Ghosts by Ghost: https://open.spotify.com/track/2F8DfLHEb7PAo0jZLTek4D?si=KXcRp7IqQnioCo6cYnF4_g

_Twenty-One Years Earlier_

_Kes and Poe silently walked back to the parking lot from the guidance counselor’s office; Poe dragged his feet in trepidation. He flinched when Kes yanked the door of the Chevy open and set his backpack between his knees, staring out the window as they passed the track field and the rows of jacaranda dropping amethyst blossoms onto the side of the road._

_As Kes drove toward their home on Yavin Lane in the middle of the school day, he stole another glance at the purple shine around Poe’s eye. He had the same spirit as his mother, there was no denying it. “Okay. Now tell me what really happened, all of it.”_

_“I was defending Ben, I told you. I don’t know why you’re mad at me... We’re supposed to protect family, right?”_

_Pulling up to a red light, Kes rolled his shoulders. He was about to become a parental cliché. He considered bringing the memory of Shara into it- in fact, Kes wondered if the fight was Poe’s way of channeling his resentment at the world for taking his mother- but decided against the double cliché for now. “I’m not mad, I’m disappointed. But tell me the truth: You struck the first blow, didn’t you?”’_

_Nodding in confusion, Poe figured Kes of all people would understand. Before he was suspended, Poe was convinced his dad would be on his side, but now he had this unreadable look on his face as he squinted at the road ahead._

_“And did anyone try to handle this with words before you smashed the kid’s face in?”_

_”Shane’s a jerk, dad. Just kept calling Ben a freak. He wouldn’t have listened even if we did talk—“_

_”That may be true, but you have to try. You have to exhaust every other means of resolution before you even consider fighting as an option.”_

_Poe’s thick left brow shot up, the same expression Kes made when he was challenged. “But you like to fight. You said that you were fighting for people who were bullied in Bosnia, I’m just tryin’ to do the same thing you are.”_

_”I don’t like it,” Kes countered gently. Apparently their conversation about his service in Kosovo and Sarajevo was misunderstood, but how could a child understand what it meant to be in a conflict like that? Modern genocide should be unfathomable, especially to a third grader. “I don’t like leaving you here with your aunt and uncle, without knowing when I’ll return. I don’t like shooting at people, even the bad people. I don’t like fighting at all. It’s my job.”_

_“So you’re sayin’ it doesn’t feel good to kick their asses?” Skepticism dripped from Poe’s voice as the Chevy made a turn._

_”For the sake of not derailing the lesson here, I’m gonna ignore that language this time. Say it again and you’ll regret it,” Kes chided. “And no, it’s not really like that. They’re still human beings. Violence against any human being shouldn’t feel good. Now...  There’s a sense of satisfaction and relief when a mission is accomplished, yeah. That’s completely different than the ego boost of standing over someone with a pair of bloody knuckles or a smoking gun.”_

_Poe stared at the swollen tissue of his hand. Rage propelled the right hook that tore into Shane Wilson’s face after Poe noticed Ben’s effort to hide the tears. He had to admit, pride ballooned within his thin frame as the bully crawled away backwards on the ground, humiliation written plainly on his reddened face. But it wasn’t enough to simply halt the teasing. He straddled Shane, who landed one clean punch to Poe’s left eye, and drove the point home with a flurry of hits before being pulled away by a teacher’s aide._

_Regret wasn’t even on his radar until the door of the guidance counselor’s office opened and Kes stood there looking almost every bit the part of a Special Operations solider. Impeccable posture, dense muscles, an ingrained sense of courtesy and the air of a man who didn’t delight in telling war stories.  Only one thing didn’t fit the mold: the soft tint of disappointment in his cognac eyes. Sadness, not abrasiveness. And Poe felt a flicker of remorse, though he wasn’t able to label the emotion._

_Kes Dameron didn’t survive violence overseas only to return to Georgia to find violence within his own boy. Poe needed to be raised better than that. He owed it to Bail, who wrongfully died in a Cuban prison long before Poe was born. He owed it to Shara, who died before seeing their son even finish the second grade. They couldn’t shape him, but Kes could. Poe needed to understand that reacting in anger doesn’t make a man a hero; it makes him a vigilante._

_“I’m proud that you protected your cousin. But you escalated the situation. And remember, you might not have won the fight. If you lost, it would’ve made things worse off for Ben and for yourself. You’ve gotta think ahead, think of the bigger picture.” Kes rolled down the window with one hand and the gust of wind knocked Poe’s curls around. “Always use your head over your fists. Always.”_

—-

Present Day

Vile and acidic, it felt like handfuls of dice were shredding the inside his throat. Poe gripped the plastic seat of the toilet and emptied the contents of his stomach into the bowl in the dark hotel bathroom. He dared not turn the light on, in fear of exacerbating the malicious pounding of his hangover. Poe took a swig of mouthwash and tried to fake a smile into the dim mirror above the sink, but each attempt came out watery or plastic. He didn’t think he could muster one convincing enough to fool you.

Then he remembered he didn’t have to; you loved Poe beyond his frailty. 

Pushing the bathroom door open, he watched your chest rise and fall gently as you slept. There was something important that happened last night. He cried, he knew that much. Ill-defined around the edges, the memories wore alcohol vignettes. More than tears, Poe unleashed a torrent of despair in your arms. Tenderly, you kissed over his eyelids and everything sprung out of him. He remembered that vividly. 

Then it went darker, grainy. Poe remembered the clutch of fear in his sob-wracked chest, but couldn’t recall what was said. Apparently he’d acquiesced to sleep soon after, and now he awoke clueless with a phantom hammering in his skull and the embarrassment of having to ask what was so significant. It was probably nothing, he assured himself, just an overreaction in light of the events of the day and the handful of criminally expensive drinks from the minibar. 

Worse than the hangover was the sorrow that replaced the hollowness. It engulfed him the same way a fuzzy layer of bacteria seemed to grow over the fallen peaches in the yard of his childhood home. One day they seemed okay, skin intact, though bruised from the fall. Then the next, rapidly decomposing, sickly sweet and covered in fruit flies. Kes used to nag him to gather them all up daily during the season so as not to attract pests, but Poe would often poke at the few he missed with sticks while he waited for the school bus. It was fascinating how something could seem so perfect yet become a festering mess so quickly.

Poe could feel now, and the last two weeks of grief caught up with him violently. People were supposed to feel better after they’d cried, right? It didn’t work for him. 

“You scared me!” Raking a hand over your face, you sighed. “Don’t just lurk in the dark like that.”

“I’m sorry, lost in thought.”

Even though you knew how drunk he was the night before, Poe didn’t want you to know that he’d been vomiting. Slouching against the headboard, you patted a spot on the mattress next to you with a look of concern. Poe slid under the covers, his head cradled against your stomach. Your fingers lingered at the chain around his neck, the dip above his lips. 

“I just can’t sit by, okay? I have to help. I need to make sure Cass didn’t die in vain,” he admitted as he stared at the ceiling overhead. 

Taken aback by the sudden proclamation, you paused before answering. “You’re grieving. You’re supposed to be right now... but you can’t solve these problems by jumping in an F-16 and blowing something up. That’s not how it works.”

“They’re poisoning children now. Did you read about the latest outbreak?”

Haunting him from the TIME magazine you bought in the San Francisco airport, the dirty face of the Yemeni boy in the bombed out home followed Poe’s thoughts. Just the day before, another report came in of mass illness throughout a city in a strategic area, one the Houthi rebels had been trying to secure for months. Children and the elderly were hit the hardest by the mysterious sickness. 

“I know. And they don’t even know exactly what it is... It’s a shitshow but you’re not gonna go there as one man- pilot or engineer or anything else- and fix it.”

”This isn’t about revenge; it’s just the right thing to do.”

Poe ran a hand through his smushed charcoal waves in frustration and you caught his fingers, guiding them back to rest intertwined with yours on his chest. You were right but he still felt the crushing pain of bereavement. How else was he supposed to find peace over Cassian’s death? Action would honor his friend far more than any eulogy.

“You remember who Luke Skywalker is?” you asked, interrupting Poe’s fragmented thoughts. “He’s like... the preeminent identifier of mutated pathogens in the world.”

“Yeah, I thought he should’ve been a pilot with a name like Skywalker,” Poe said, unsure he was going to like where this was headed. The subject of your thesis was also the identification and isolation of weaponized biological agents. Naturally, you’d been talking a lot about the outbreaks and felt a sense of duty of your own when it came to the subject. 

“He runs the World Health Organization’s anti-biological weapons program, in Doha. I looked it up and it’s actually really close to the Al Udeid base—“

Immediately Poe was filled with an impulse to shield you. An unthinking, knee-jerk reaction to dive in front of a bullet or push you out of the path of an oncoming car. Like Cassian, he was also a protector. Poe sat up in the bed and turned, voice stern. “Absolutely not.”

“You say you wanna be in my corner, so don’t box me in. Qatar is safe—“

“ _Nowhere_ is safe! Not with everything going on. This is the Middle East we’re talking about.”

“Stop interrupting me! It’s safe as it can be, all things considered,” you appealed. “That’s why the project is based there. This is where I need to be, where I can do the most good. I can feel it.”

Once Poe allowed himself to thaw, he felt the devastation of losing Cassian and couldn’t stop it. An intense pain, unavoidable and focused on him like a heat-seeking missile. Images from articles and news stories flashed in Poe’s mind, the charred interior of a supermarket where overturned grocery carts were feet away from stacks of bodies from the latest attack. How could he possibly protect you from something like that? 

“So at best you get poisoned or infected or whatever; worst you get blown to pieces?” Poe’s hands swooped through the air faster the more agitated he became. “I’m supposed to be okay with that?”

”There haven’t been any attacks in Qatar. And besides, my work has always come with its own occupational hazards. You know that.”

”But you don’t need to go overseas into a set of crosshairs to do it.”

”Neither do you,” you countered. “You could’ve flown commercial, gotten a job at JetBlue or something. You didn’t have to become a fighter.”

”I’d never do that... I have standards. At the very least I’m Southwest material,” Poe deadpanned, crossing his legs under the comforter. “Maybe United when I’m fully caffeinated.”

A beat passed and you slowly unveiled half a smile. Obstinate could’ve been your middle name and Poe knew you wouldn’t back down this time. His mind immediately went to the fear of drifting apart while he was deployed but this was worse. So much worse. And both you and Poe knew that if he tried holding you down now, he’d lose you forever.

“I’m going to Doha if you’re transferred, with or without the job, but hopefully Skywalker accepts me.”

—

People are meant for things that aren’t easy. Destiny guides them toward a purpose but they must be intentional in their actions to fulfill said purpose. Poe felt that way about love, that it was an intentional action. An ongoing choice every day to love you, to adore you. To build a life together, boost you up so you could meet your own purpose. Nothing about going back to the Middle East was easy, but destiny was guiding you both there nonetheless. 

The base at Al Udeid was a stone’s throw from the hospital where the WHO set up their epidemiology lab. That couldn’t have been a coincidence, and Poe didn’t believe in them anyway. 

After Cassian’s funeral, you returned to Okinawa together to find Kadena abuzz with rumors about the new jobs at the Al Udeid base in Qatar. A station had been established there some time back, but it wasn’t a full-fledged base until now. Thousands of personnel would be transferred there when it gained that status. Like trudging through deep snow amidst a blizzard, Poe had been in deep mourning. 

The pain wasn’t yet cauterized; it was still visceral and raw. Poe tried to pull himself out of it. He did push-ups on the apartment floor after you went to bed, called the flight recertification department while he was on break from his engineering job, driven to get back what he’d lost. Cassian himself said Poe belonged in a cockpit. He’d even surprised himself by letting his guard down and crying in a session with Dr. Kenobi. Numbness had given way to a deluge of pain, and it acted as a motivation. He had to prove he could get back out there. 

Wincing sharply as you turned the corner, Poe followed you, jogging down the row of apartments. His stamina had suffered since the motorcycle accident and you maintained a decent lead on him during the run. Turning to look over your shoulder, you stopped completely. “Whoa, you don’t have to keep up with me. Just say so if you need to slow down.”

Poe dug the heel of his palm into his hip in a circular motion, with a smirk to deflect from how much it stung. “You know I’m competitive.”

“You said it didn’t hurt anymore.”

”Only sometimes,” he dismissed, breath lightly panting, “Must’ve put some extra stress on that side rounding the corner. I’m fine.”

B.B. trotted alongside Poe. The energetic terrier looked handsome in an orange and white harness that complemented his red and white fur. Together you picked up the easy jogging pace again, toward the small park. Brow furrowed, Poe sucked in another deep breath as sharpness branched out from the left side of his pelvis. The fracture was only a hairline and it was time he start exercising on it again, but the sudden sensation kept pulling him out of the proper headspace. Retreat played on the speakers, signaling 05:00. Oriented toward the flag, he paused and saluted then took a few tired steps toward a park bench. 

“Big day tomorrow,” he said, wiping a layer of sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his Underarmor shirt. B.B. sniffed at a frog in the grass. 

In the light of the setting sun, pink reflected off the uneven texture of Poe’s hair. A few silent moments passed before you broke his gaze and adjusted the laces on your cross trainers. “I’m scared. I know this is what you want but I can’t stop thinking about the last time you were in a jet. “

”Corazón, that was a mechanical failure. One in ten-thousand chance it could happen once, even less likely to happen twice.”

”And you’re incredible and skilled and I trust you... but what happens when the odds aren’t on your side? What if your luck runs out?”

”I’m your carrier pigeon,” Poe shrugged. “I’ll always come back.”

”What, in a box? Like how Cassian came home to Jyn?!” you blurted, slapping a hand over your own mouth as soon as the words escaped.

Poe’s self-assured smile dropped into a crestfallen expression and he plopped down on the bench. Losing his friend hit close to home and he’d only briefly considered how horrible it must be for you beyond supporting Jyn. “That’s not fair. I agreed to let you come with me if—“

Incredulous brows shot up, along with the volume of your voice. “Let me?”

“Yeah, I’m not happy about it but I’m still letting you come.”

“Wow. I’m freaking out about you flying ‘cause it’s a safety thing.”

”Me too! What, you think I wanna control you? Why do you keep thinking that, I’ve never wanted that! We’re... We’re supposed to make important decisions together,” he faltered. B.B. cowered under the bench, unused to hearing Poe speak with such intensity. “I wanna keep you safe. Every instinct I have is screaming to do whatever it takes to keep you safe and I—“

Anger shifted to tears and Poe looked away, voice splintering on the word ‘safe’. Over the last three weeks, during all the additional psychological evaluations and the gauntlet of medical tests that included multiple EEGs a day, Poe had been struggling with his duties as a husband. For him, those duties were to love you, keep you safe and minimize any pain in your life. With each step closer to earning his wings back, Poe wondered if the best thing he could do would be to drive you away, as devastating as it would be for him. Hurt you so you’d leave and stay far away from Doha- But of course that plan would surely backfire, only galvanizing your resolve, and he knew that. So he had no choice but to go along with it. 

“You might not be having seizures anymore but you’re not well. The nightmares haven’t stopped, you’re in a weird daze sometimes. I have to worry.”

“Every pilot who’s been ever in a dogfight has nightmares about it afterward. If I’m in a daze it’s ‘cause I’m trying to manage life and work and being home with you while missing my friend.” Poe sniffled slightly and stared at the grass under his feet, then shot a piercing look at you. Unsettling in its bare honesty. “I’m ready to fly, you don’t need to worry about me. But I’m not okay with bringing you with me. It’s where you say you need to be and I understand that. I really do, more than you know, but I’m fuckin’ terrified of something happening.”

“If you go, I go. That’s the deal.”

“Two stubborn idiots running barefoot toward a sandbox full of fire ants,” Poe mused with a half-smirk that belied the building trepidation in his heart. Humor was always his shield. “What could go wrong?”

——

Anticipation grinding in his stomach, Poe couldn’t sleep. In the early morning, he guzzled down two cafe con leches out of his favorite mug while scrolling through news articles on his phone. Another op-ed blaming lax security at Al Anad for the explosion in the hangar, and Poe felt the anger and grief came down upon him like a hailstorm. He locked the device and flung it to the other end of the sofa. The neck of his guitar was peeking out from the edge of the sofa and Poe plucked it up. Immediately, the tension of the strings felt right under his fingertips. Strumming at the black acoustic Gibson, Poe began to sing a song he wrote during his temporary duty in Yemen. A song about facing your fear, stepping into the life one is meant to live. A song that conjured images of suicide vests and the vibrant tapestry of the desert sunset.

Poe trusted this was the step he needed to take, and trusted that destiny was propelling you in the right direction as well. But he didn’t trust the world, right now it a brutal sphere spinning in the darkness of space. He’d always been taught that people are fundamentally good and that the world was a place of light and love and miracles. Poe wanted the world to be like that, the way his mother saw it. But now he began to doubt that perception and it was disorienting. Poe was an optimist, through and through. Optimists aren’t supposed to doubt. 

You held onto him a little tighter before he left for work that morning, fingers squeezing around his biceps. Conflict tingled on the surface of your skin, Poe could feel it on your lips. He knew you could feel his own tension, muscles knotted under his mottled battledress uniform as he kissed you goodbye. Kneeling down, he tousled B.B.’s ears with a quick scratch. As he left, his hand was outstretched to you, savoring the contact before he had to confront the reality outside the apartment. Today he would learn if he could become a pilot again. His hand glided along your forearm as he stepped toward the door, hesitant to let go. It moved to your wrist and then to your hand, fingers curling around yours.

With a comforting squeeze of his hand, you mustered a smile. “No matter what happens, I love you.”

Poe winked, trying to channel what was left of his charisma while frantically jamming the writhing tangle of anxiety deeper down. He couldn’t burden you with anything else. 

“I mean...” you whispered. Poe stepped closer again. “You’re a good person. And you’ve done good things. Even if you can’t be a pilot again, you’re still worthy. You’re enough, just as you are.”

Smile fading, he tucked some stray hair behind your ear. Poe wasn’t sure if he believed that, though he did believe you genuinely felt that way. 

“Poe? Say something...“

Planting a kiss on your temple, Poe mumbled into your skin. “Have a good day, mi amor.”

”Wait- I’m coming too.”

”I have to do this alone. I’m sorry.”

Turning away before you could respond, Poe slipped out of the apartment and drove your hatchback across the base. Before he entered the building, he excavated a pack of cigarettes he’d hidden under the passenger seat. Sitting on the hood, he took a drag and tried to prepare himself. There was pain in your eyes when you realized he didn’t want you in the waiting area, but Poe was liable to get bogged down in emotions if you gave him that look right before the final tests. As much as he wanted to lean on you now, he couldn’t risk breaking down. 

Four months earlier, a few days after the flat spin, Poe was told about the brain injury and subsequent epilepsy. As his professional dreams were stripped away, he felt a seismic shift underfoot. He would never forget the moment he was told he might never fly again, in a room in the hospital at the Al Anad base. He wept, he thrashed and punched a wall. Bloodied from the repetitive impact, Poe earned a crosshatch of scars across his knuckles. 

Receiving his wings again felt like running an obstacle course. Daily EEGs for weeks. Another MRI. Diffusion tensor imaging sequencing. Most invasive was the scrutiny of Dr. Kenobi during the mental evaluations, but Poe would jump any hurdle necessary to get back in the cockpit. The routine at the hospital was familiar, the staff in the neurology department all knew Poe by name. One of the older techs often snuck him small packages of Ritz peanut butter crackers while relaying stories of her grandchildren’s latest adventures to help him pass the time as he waited. He searched for her kind, time-worn face and was disappointed when it wasn’t found. 

He never liked the vulnerability of being in a thin gown, or having to take his wedding ring or necklace off. It was vaguely condescending to be referred to by his rank here, undressed, but the staff all did it and Poe didn’t want to make waves by asking them to call him by his given name. 

Sorrow and memories of his friend hummed in his mind while he lay in the claustrophobic plastic tube of the EEG machine. It had now been months since his last documented absence seizure, but Poe obliged, as much as he hated being stuck in that sterile sarcophagus, unable to move while the machine glimpsed into his brain. He tried to daydream- he couldn’t do much else- about what it would feel like to fly again if his waiver was approved. Focus on the good. 

He struggled to push the shadows of fear back, the line of scrimmage between his conscious and subconscious becoming blurred every time he was struck with another flashback or intrusive thought. They came suddenly, completely immersive for a few hideous moments. 

Poe wasn’t in the EEG anymore; he was in the familiar hangar at Al Anad. It was real, the slightly rough texture of the olive flight suit irritated his thighs, his nose assaulted by the sharp scent of JP-8 as the planes were refueled. Voices echoed and amplified in the vast and bustling space. And there was the 44th Squadron, his squadron. Bodhi’s round eyes rolling as Cassian threw an arm around him, laughing at his own a joke. Hux slinking a few steps behind, pretending to be indifferent although he absolutely loved to eavesdrop.

Shouting, Poe sprinted toward them. Desperation searing in his voice, he waved his hands overhead to get their attention. “WAIT!” 

Everything froze for a split second before the ignition. Poe was thrown back, weightless in the air has he reflexively guarded his face with his hands. His palms were hot, like he was pressing them into hot asphalt. He screamed in horror as objects flew past him, metal carts and vehicles and people. 

He hit the ground with a thud and adrenaline snapped him upright but he was locked in place. Forced to witness. The hangar was an inferno, a nightmare. With wide eyes, he realized those weren’t just people, they were scraps of people. Poe looked down at his flight suit and turned his trembling hands palm-up. No. No, no, God no. He was covered in scorch marks and blood and bits of person. 

“Captain Dameron, are you okay?” a voice came through the speakers.

He wasn’t in Yemen; he was still in the EEG. Safe. He wasn’t in the hangar during the attack, yet his mind was convinced otherwise. Maybe it was guilt that fabricated these vivid intrusive thoughts- but he couldn’t let them know. Especially not today, the final round of medical evaluations. Maybe it was the stress. That must be it. 

”Mmm-hmmm. I’ve just been cooped up in these machines all day,” he answered a little too quickly. Poe glanced down at himself in the tube, as much as possible from his position. He didn’t exactly expect to see a blood-splattered and charred flight suit where the hospital gown was, but he double checked anyway. “It’s making me anxious.”

“We’re almost done here but I need you to remain still.”

After a few more minutes, he’d gotten dressed and checked in with you on the phone. Pacing down the hallways, he studied the generic model faces on the posters for help navigating Tri-Care and various support groups. One more quick smoke in the parking lot and it was time. 

Poe sat the office of Dr. Kenobi to hear the final decision: fit or unfit. Chewing the soft inner lining of his cheek, he ran a thumb over the textured surface his knuckles. He picked his cuticles, bounced a leg rapidly in his chair. Unthinking, his fingers gravitated toward the St. Joseph resting under his clavicle, the smooth gold of his wedding band. Restless body to match a restless spirit. 

Then he heard the words: _Welcome back, Captain_. 

Relief mixed with joy. Poe shook his head in disbelief as a grin threatened to split his face in half. 

“We have a special project in mind for you, but it wouldn’t be here at Kadena.”

”Sir, I’d like to go to Al Udeid if at all possible.”

Slightly taken aback, Dr. Kenobi sat in silence and examined the airman on the other side of the desk. Poe wondered if he was too eager, sounding like someone out for blood, but the doc probably knew him better than that by now. 

”I have more good news for you, then. There’s a special group of pilots there, nicknamed Black Squadron. Your previous commander recommended you for it.”

Throat suddenly parched, Poe let out a cough. Cassian came through. And Poe knew he had to do his part. For Cass, for Bodhi who was still on life support. For the people of Yemen getting bombed and starved and deliberately poisoned. Lip quivering, he finally responded. “I’d be honored. When can my wife and I leave?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How are you guys feeling about Qatar: a much-needed fresh start or something else? 
> 
> Do you think Poe is really safe to fly now, and that his motivations are truly in the right place? Did the lesson Kes imparted on him all those years ago truly sink in?


	9. Pyrite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe’s vigilance goes into overdrive as you begin working at the WHO facility in Doha. Both you and Poe are reminded of what’s at stake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Soundtrack:
> 
> Heaven Can Wait by Charlotte Gainsbourg: https://open.spotify.com/track/5f28wA3lYK3goqUUBHw8Xs?si=690LLE8yTcij5gaARdN5Aw

Jetlag was something Poe was used to, but Doha was only 6 hours behind Okinawa. Sleepless, he carefully unpacked the few boxes of belongings brought from your home in Japan. Construction finished on the officer’s housing in Al Udeid just before Poe was transferred there, and so you moved directly in instead of being in a temporary situation. The rest of your belongings would be shipped soon but Poe was a sentimental person and made sure to include a few of your favorite pottery creations, some highlights from the vinyl collection he inherited from Kes and family photo albums.

Uncovering the albums, he sighed and sat on the floor. He thumbed though, reliving memories with each snapshot. He reached a page where a faded Polaroid was taped next to a newer digital print. Kes and Shara sat on a Yamaha, her head resting on his shoulder as he saluted the camera. Reddish tones bloomed in the corner of the Polaroid; it was taken when they were about 21. Poe and Kes shared the same prominent, regal nose and stubble-dusted chin. Next to it, the recreation that you made for Poe as a surprise. Finn took it, and Poe was laughing at how you “needed something cute for Instagram” so much that he didn’t realize what you were doing. On the Ducati, you leaned into Poe with a smile as he made the same gesture as his dad. 

When you pulled up the two photos side-by-side on your phone after Finn helped you get the pose just right, Poe choked up. He was choking up now just remembering it. Shara and Kes were the reason Poe believed in true love, in soul mates. He wanted what they had: a modest piece of land with some chickens, a child they loved dearly. An imperfect life filled with small moments of laughter and tenderness. He lamented your own parent’s lack of involvement in your life as he turned the pages to find a photo of you and Lando grinning over a table littered with tapas plates in Tampa. Poe was grateful you had him, but wished your parents were there also. 

His Aunt Leia cried into her smartphone when Poe told her he was going to Al Udeid. Lando had a more positive response based on what Poe overheard of your conversation- but your parents didn’t even know you’d left Okinawa. If they had received the messages, they didn’t answer. 

Setting the albums on the bookshelf, he returned to the cardboard boxes scattered around the apartment. A Malachite-print box where you kept his letters from Yemen, beautiful greens in concentric lines like tree rings. And something else: two Beretta 9mm pistols.

He was acquainted with the sidearm, one was holstered on his survival vest with a round chambered and the safety off every time he flew. The idea was that, in case of emergency ejection over hostile territory, he’d have a bit of protection. But one was for you. Charm and tenacity enabled him to secure a permit to have it in the country and he wasn’t going to let you leave the base without it in your waistband or purse. 

Poe dipped a scoop into the yellow can of Cafe Bustelo as you emerged groggy from the bedroom and took a seat at the table. Having been awake for hours, he was already dressed for work but you had yet to shower and change out of pajamas. 

“Buenos dias.”

“Sabah alkhyr.” 

He squinted, “Learning Arabic?”

”DuoLingo will be my downfall.”

Reaching into the box, Poe took a breath and set the black Beretta on the table in front of you. The heaviness of metal against the wooden surface reminded him of the gravity of war. Why he was here, to atone in some way for Cassian’s death. 

“What’s this?”

”A ‘first day of work’ present.”

It remained untouched as you leaned back in the chair, crossing your arms. “I’m not carrying that.”

”I can’t have you out there, just helpless.”

“Qatar actually has a lower violent crime rate than Tampa, but you didn’t ask me to pack when we lived there.”

Of course you’d throw statistics in his face, but he didn’t care what the data said. Figures mattered less than instinct now. The person he loved most was going to work in a foreign country in one of the most volatile regions on Earth. Poe slid the weapon across the table. “This isn’t Tampa or Okinawa; it’s a combat zone. Remember that. This isn’t home.”

Pushing yourself up from the table, the chair screeched against the floor as you rose. The espresso maker percolated on the stove and you pulled it off, pouring equal amounts into two mugs. ”So I should do something I’m not comfortable with?”

“To stay alive, you might have to.”

Brows furrowed, you stared at Poe. Whining in discontent, B.B. slumped against your leg at the lack of attention. 

”It’s not like I want you to use it. Think of it as insurance. You carry it and pray you never find yourself in a situation where it’s needed.” Vast and astonishing, Poe’s eyes revealed his lingering pain, his frustration and a terror he was afraid to communicate. He brushed against the hand resting on the counter, warm, tan skin a physical reassurance. “This is so you can protect yourself. Please just humor me, Corazón.”

His hazelnut eyes were pleading for this one concession, at the very least. It wouldn’t stop a bomb from detonating but maybe you’d stand a fighting chance against something else. Violent scenarios blinked in Poe’s mind and he gripped your hand. He didn’t have a good feeling about this move at all. Poe took a couple steps toward the table and lifted the gun. He returned to the same spot as before, next to you at the counter.

Cold metal tingled your senses as he gently placed the weapon into your hands. At first it caused you to flinch but you accepted the weight in your palm. Your body stiffened as you examined it. Long ago, Poe took you on a shooting range date in Tampa but that was the last time you’d held one.

“What if I panic? What if I get paranoid and accidentally shoot an innocent person!”

”You won’t, you’re very logical. Wait- think I’m paranoid?” Poe asked, a trace of defensiveness in his voice. If anything he was being relatively relaxed about this whole thing, considering one of his best friends had just fucking exploded and his wife was now at risk of the same fate simply by virtue of geography. After pouring a splash of milk into the mug, he took a nonchalant sip to play off the knee-jerk reaction and buy himself time to construct a more eloquent, persuasive argument. 

”All the jumpiness, your lack of sleep since we arrived. Now this? Yeah, a little. You’re still healing, and that’s to be expected.”

”I’m freaking out... Honestly- you’re not gonna like this- I hate the idea of you in Doha alone. If I could escort you to the hospital and back, I would. Every day.”

”I know.”

”I can’t lose you again. Just take it.” Insistently, he placed your other hand over the gun, so it was cupped in your hands like a fledgling bird. What else was there to say?

”Poe, I really don’t—“

”There’s no way I’m letting you—“

”Stop.” Hanging your head in frustration, you stared at the safety of the weapon in your possession. “I don’t wanna hear anything else you have to say that starts with that phrase.”

He blinked in surprise, realizing he was doing it again. A familiar pattern he slipped into, making the mistake of using controlling language when his intention was only protective. God help him if he ever had a teenage daughter. “Sorry... I... it’s not like that. I—“

”Fine,” you muttered in resignation.

”Really?” Poe’s voice was soft.

“To shut you up,” you answered. “If I take it, will you stop?”

“Of course. And as an apology I’ll get you a real ‘first day of work’ present. A nice one—“

”I don’t need a present. I just...” you pushed a stray curl from his forehead and cradled his still-rough cheek in your hand.

”Want me to drop it?” Poe offered.

“I was gonna say that I’m just glad to be together, doing something that matters.”

“A celebratory dinner, then. Together. Something with camel meat.”

Laughing, you pushed his face away. 

“What do you think we ate in Yemen? It’s not as chewy as you’d imagine!”

”I thought I told you to shut up.” You giggled and Poe gripped around your waist, hauling you closer until he pressed a kiss to your temple. He hoped that you wouldn’t notice the anxiety still riddling his sleep-deprived eyes. 

——

Lando’s scarf was a strip of sunshine around your neck as you straightened your posture, stepping off the bus and into the street. Poe slipped it on you as a final touch. “We should both wear a little luck today,” he told you. And it did boost your confidence as you tried to channel a small portion of your godfather’s indomitable swagger. 

Traffic was congested around the gleaming modernist buildings, but Doha was a dizzying and glamorous city despite that. Chatter in Arabic filled the dry air as you walked past a string of luxury boutiques, pausing to admire the Chanel window display. Iconic smiles of Hollywood actresses were multiplied on posters wallpapering the space, reminiscent of a Xeroxed indie ‘zine. Clear pedestals in front of the posters held handbags in the season’s “it” color: canary yellow, same as your scarf. Slightly chaotic, but optimistic- somehow it felt like the move to Doha itself. You pulled your own bag snug against your frame. Weighing heavy within an inner pocket, the Beretta was in contrast to the somewhat nervous elation you felt. 

Finally you reached the home of the World Health Organization epidemiology project, an impressive teaching hospital close to the heart of downtown. Confidence began giving way to anxiety, your stomach transforming into a restless gymnast that flipped and somersaulted within your body as the door opened. 

Extending his right hand, Luke Skywalker greeted you in the lobby. He stood in a white lab coat over an all-black ensemble, handsome in his sixties with azure eyes and a neat beard. “Mrs. Dameron, so lovely to meet you in person.” 

How strange to meet someone whose work you had studied for years, a visionary who not only created new techniques but shaped how the scientific community responded to new challenges. His hand was cool, and the temperature was so unexpected that you looked down and noticed it was prosthetic. Smooth silver and responsive to your touch. It was surprising, given that you’d read much about his work and it was never mentioned that he was an amputee. 

With a wry smile, Luke leaned in after he saw your eyes dart down to it. “Flesh-eating bacteria.” 

Unable to tell if he was kidding, a nervous titter was all you could muster. Together, you made your way to the dedicated building at the far end of the facility, passing rows of computers, each space decorated with tokens of the employee’s personality. Climate-controlled rooms with their catalog of samples. Set up in a conference room, two people sat at laptops, surrounded by sound and video recording equipment. Luke stepped inside and motioned for you to follow. 

“I’d like to introduce a couple friends of mine, this is L’ulo and Suralinda.”

Imposing in his height, the bald Polynesian man nodded. And then you saw her: Suralinda Javos. Elegant box braids framed her dark, feline face, some of which were adorned with gold bands.

“Wow. I’m a big fan,” you blurted, slightly star-struck, “the documentary you made about Flint, I believe it was what finally put enough pressure on the politicians to make things right.”

”Thanks. That’s why we’re here,” Suralinda explained, “We’re actually making a documentary about the rise of chemical and biological weapons. Following the team here and hopefully there’ll be a break.”

Luke excused himself to oversee work in the lab and L’ulo took your arm. “Did he tell you the flesh-eating bacteria thing about the hand? Don’t mind him... it’s his version of ‘ _That’s why you always leave a note_ ’ from Arrested Development. He’s just messing with you; it’s congenital.”

”Luke has a penchant for the dramatic,” Suralinda laughed and crossed her legs. “So, how’d you get roped into this gig?”

—-

The cell phone in Poe’s pocket itched like a mosquito bite. Fighting the urge to check in, he pulled it out then stuffed it back inside because you’d only be annoyed at his over protectiveness. It was too early. He’d send a text at lunch, something chipper and encouraging so it wouldn’t seem like he was neurotically fixated on your safety. Grief had settled over Poe’s life, like a blanket of ash after a volcanic eruption. Losing Cassian had changed him, nearly buried him under a layer of his darkest fears, but he was trying to shovel his way out.

“Poe fuckin’ Dameron!” 

Commander Temmin Wexley dashed across the hangar and engulfed Poe in a bear hug, squeezing thick arms around him until Poe was convinced he cracked a couple ribs. What an absolute relief to find a familiar face. The two attended Undergraduate Pilot Training together at Vance, and his speed earned him the nickname ‘Snap’. He came in just after Poe in marksmanship and aerobatics. It was strange to have a peer as his commander, but Poe trusted Snap. The chain of command was dramatically rearranged in light of the recent losses, and since most of the casualties were pilots that meant promotions for the survivors. 

”Snap, buddy! You’re a sight for sore eyes.” Poe took a step back. Snap still sported his dark beard, how he got away with having facial hair Poe never knew, and seemed unchanged since they last saw each other. Still exuberant in energy just like Poe- perhaps that was why they got along so well. “Man, it’s gonna be weird to call you Commander.”

”Then don’t,” Snap shrugged. “I mean, don’t unless there’s brass around. Then you need to act like I’m the biggest ballbuster of all time. But hey, you gotta meet the team. Let me present the unofficial Black Squadron.”

Snap gestured to three pilots milling around a small table. Poe rubbed the back of his neck for a moment before he cleared his throat. He didn’t want to leave a poor impression, and people often mistook his self-assured manner for cockiness. Poe was humble, as humble as a man who knows he’s brilliant at his particular skill set can be. A man who didn’t brag when he told stories, but instead highlighted the actions of his team over his own heroics. The success of the missions would depend on the cohesiveness of this group, the ability to trust each other. Poe needed this rag-tag team of pilots to trust him. 

”Hey. I don’t know what flagrant lies Snap told you guys about me,” He started with a light chuckle, “but I’m Poe. I’m from Georgia. My wife and I just came from Kadena but I was in Al Anad the better part of the year. Or the worse part of the year, depending on your outlook.”

Looking up from a mechanical handbook was Jessika Pava. Narrow monolid eyes and a soft mouth defined her face, but her fiery energy was the most memorable thing about her. A thing felt much more than seen. “He told us about the flat spin. They call it a miracle. ...I’m Pava.”

“C’ai Threnalli.” The man rose and extended a friendly hand to Poe. “I spent a little time in Al Anad, too.”

They looked at him like he was indestructible. And why wouldn’t they? Cassian and Bodhi told the story of the dogfight, the compressor stall and the flat spin. How Poe had been knocked unconscious when his head snapped against the canopy and came to as the jet was spiraling toward the sea. Despite having a concussion and limited awareness, he managed to recover and land. Poe didn’t know if they were aware of the extent of the damage, a concussion when he entered the spin and another blow to his head when he stopped it. Seizures that stole moments of his life after, like a busted radio transmitter. He hoped they didn’t know, but it was clear Snap had read his whole file. Including the part about the motorcycle accident. He wouldn’t have shared it all with the group, would he?

“Karé Kun.” She stood with arms crossed, platinum hair offsetting rich copper skin. “I’m a Leo and enjoy long walks on the beach.” 

”That one’s from Jersey and sarcastic as Hell. My apologies,” Snap laughed. Poe sensed a flirtatious connection between the two but left it alone for now. 

The group took seats at the table as Snap described the covert mission: Sandstorm. Collect intel from Iran, who was thought to be collaborating with and providing firepower to the Houthi in Yemen. Drones had been disabled as soon as they crossed the border and they were running out of options as the death toll rose. Any pilot going into the territory had to be prepared to engage. Poe chewed his lip at this information. It wasn’t a shock; of course it would be dangerous, but after his time away from the cockpit, this felt like going from zero to Mach Two. 

“Kun, Threnalli and I fly F-35s,” Snap explained, “But you can fly a 16 if you prefer. Pava’s still in a 16.”

”Maximum ceiling is higher. Acceleration is more responsive.” Jess adjusted the low ponytail at the nape of her neck. “I’m not giving up my baby for something slower.”

”I’ll do best in a 16, too.” Poe was certain of this. In his dreams, before things turned to shit from the compressor stall, he still knew the control panel. He knew the feel of the engine. Intuitive, familiar. Powerful. “I know the 35’s got stealth but I need maneuverability.”

”You got it,” Snap agreed. 

Poe’s hands trembled as the team ran through pre-flight procedures before the sortie. When it came time to climb into the cockpit, he hesitated. Pyrite trying to pass itself off as 24 karat gold- that’s what it felt like as he tried to pretend he wasn’t terrified. He wasn’t supposed to feel fear, he was above it all, above the cumulonimbus in a weapon of steel and speed. But Poe felt fear like it was grafted onto his bones. Inescapable, part of him. 

Routine was the scaffolding upon which each day was built, so the routine of the pre-flight checks felt soothing despite the monotony. He did his walkaround checking the panels, weapon racks, pneumatic pressures, oil levels. Then it was time: into the seat. His canines dug into his inner cheek as he attached the harness and zipped his G-suit up the rest of the way. As the teeth clicked together, Poe felt his hand skim the golden St. Joseph resting in the dip between his clavicles. His luck. And he’d need it. The last time he was in a cockpit, he was supposed to be fish food in the Port of Midi. 

Forcing those memories into the background, Poe set up cockpit switches for flight. That feeling of claustrophobia returned as the crew chief assisted Poe by hooking up his G-suit hose to the console and then hooking up his chute harnesses. Tendrils of fear encircled his chest, invisible harnesses threatening to lock him in a hypertonic panic. As the straps tightened around him, the pistol lodged between his ribs within in his flight vest. The thought of you toting your own gun through the foreign city galvanized his resolve. He needed to do this, it was only right. He swallowed thickly and donned his helmet, decorated with two thick red stripes on the left side. Final checks then ignition. Countless dreams of his own death in a cockpit identical to this, a console just like this one blinking dire warnings as he spun toward a watery grave.

Poe expected to fade away, to remove himself slightly and go through the motions- but this time he didn’t. Wax facsimiles never replaced his hands. A pane of frosted glass didn’t separate him from the world. Maybe he really had made progress with Dr. Kenobi.

Liftoff.

Adrenaline shot through Poe’s body, driving his heartbeat faster as the F-16 gained altitude. This was just a sortie, a drill to practice working as a team, but it was more. A homecoming. 

Above the base. Above Doha and the gleaming skyscrapers that taunted gravity. Above the arid dessert and above the thin clouds. His fear seemed to dissipate the higher the jet rose. This was right; this was where he needed to be. Few things felt like this to Poe. One was the feeling of Appalachian soil underfoot when he went hiking. Another was the comforting weight of your thigh slung over his torso as he drifted to sleep. Things that felt like home. What had been sent into hibernation after his injury was still within Poe: a boundless sense of adventure. He wasn’t broken, he never had been. The realization nearly brought him to tears. He was back. 

“Miracle Man, how you doin’?” Commander Wexley’s deep voice crackled through the radio in his helmet, the smile audible to everyone tuned into the channel. 

Letting out a hoot, Poe answered quickly, “Feels damn good to be back, Snap.”

——

Luke Skywalker set a brisk pace, gesturing as he strode through the facility. The building contained a BSL-3 laboratory, restricted access at all times, and a separate unit housed the only BSL-4 lab within the entire region. Restrictions were even more stringent, with a dedicated guard in front of the hallway and a sealed door that required a security badge. 

”This is where we keep the fun stuff,” Luke chuckled as the doors hissed open. His dark sense of humor was growing on you. 

Bracing yourself upon entering, you knew a single mistake or bit of negligence could be catastrophic. That didn’t stop you from feeling hopeful and awe-struck at the precision of it all. Labs like this one carried samples of Ebola and Marbug; ironic that you’d work so close to something so deadly, when Poe was afraid of you taking the bus unchaperoned. On the other side of a thick glass divider, two people wore full-body, positive pressure suits with their own air supplies. Gloved hands slowly carried samples to a table where slides were set up. 

“Is it aerosolized? I thought I read that it was water-borne?”

”The media doesn’t know what to make of it, because we don’t yet. So they came up with that. Can you believe it? People there, already dying of thirst and now they’re scared to drink the water.” Luke’s smooth metal thumb found his belt loop and hooked there. “But we’re working on it. This thing... it has bacterial and viral properties. Of course, we’re not taking risks either way. So it stays BSL-4 until we know for sure what the Hell it is and if it’s treatable.”

“I didn’t realize...” People were dying, that you knew. But the exact circumstances were mysterious, hearsay. No wonder Javos was here to report on it, not many journalists would be willing to come into an environment like this but she was fearless in the pursuit of truth. You wanted to be as fearless, to launch yourself into the unknown armed with curiosity and a will to help the helpless.

”Come on, before we get started I need to show you something.”

Back past the beefy, armed guard, Luke led you across the hospital campus. His mood became serious as you traversed the corridors together, and he stopped at a quarantine unit. “Incubation period is unknown, so the lucky ones who end up here are stuck in quarantine indefinitely. Qatari government won’t let us release them until there’s an official WHO statement about it. They have strict HIV infection laws, so you can imagine how they are about this. I’m surprised they’re even allowing these infected refugees in the country, but it’s the right thing to do.”

Luke briefly conversed with a hijab-clad nurse, and then stepped toward a door with a large window in the center. He waved and a young girl skipped toward it. Roughly eleven years old, she wore capri-length leggings under a hospital gown and a pair of pink, fuzzy slippers. Just above the slippers, your gaze fell on her ankles, swollen and disproportionate. Her clay-colored skin stretched tight and shiny with edema. This girl was rail thin, at least borderline malnourished, yet her lower legs appeared to belong to someone else entirely. Bright colors on the child-size gown offset the sallow complexion of her rounded face. She wasn’t just quarantined, it was clear she was deeply unwell. 

It was hard enough to look directly at the cover of that TIME magazine that L’ulo shot, into the face of a victim of war crimes. This was an entirely different level of intensity, to have that face look back at you. The young Yemeni girl had an effervescent personality and an innocent smile, but the world had all but turned a blind eye to the cruelty her people were subjected to. After all, the United States only officially joined the war after Al Anad was bombed. Something stirred within, an urge to protect this girl. Eleven year olds should be doodling the name of their crush in the margins of their notebooks and braiding their friend’s hair at sleepovers, not fighting for their own survival in the shell-ridden rubble that used to be their neighborhood. Not touch-starved fighting for survival behind isolating panes of glass. 

Luke tapped out something on his phone and held the screen up to her. Nodding enthusiastically, she responded in Arabic, muffled through the window as she looked down at her fuzzy footwear. Her toes wiggled within. 

“I asked her if she likes the slippers... guess that’s a yes.”

Another message was typed into the translation app and Luke held it to the glass, “Even though you’re not part of her medical care, I want everyone on my team to see the kids. See who you’re working to help. This is what it’s about.”

Pressing a palm into the glass, you gave a warm smile, speaking in English although she couldn’t understand it. The lessons in DuoLingo hadn’t gotten to introductions yet, but this girl would be a motivator to learn more. “Hi, I’m Mrs. Dameron.”

“Hila,” she answered, developing a sudden shyness as she tucked her chin in. A curtain of dark hair obscured half her face but her smile was still evident. This little girl was adorable and you wanted to shield her from the wickedness of the world. You’d always considered yourself a realist, but being in her presence made you reconsider becoming an optimist. You wanted to give her optimism, an unending supply of strength and hope. You wanted to save her. 

Awkwardly shuffling by, the nurse returned in full quarantine gear. Luke explained that it was time for Hila’s dialysis treatment. Renal failure was common among the survivors who didn’t die immediately of severe hemorrhage. She needed a transplant, desperately. Hila’s sunken eyes stayed with you for the rest of the day, a reminder of why you moved across the world. 

 ——

The sun had begun its descent to the horizon, and the sky above Doha was infused with color that faded into darkness. Poe returned to the apartment, still in his patch-emblazoned flight suit, curly hair slightly sweaty from being confined in the helmet. The apartment was still bare, the essentials and two boxes of irreplaceable personal items already unpacked, but it felt warm anyway. B.B. jumped and yipped at Poe’s arrival as soon as his key was in the door. He made kissy sounds and praised this companion before looking up to find you reading a book on the couch. 

Relief flooded his eyes. Was every day going to be like this? Texting to confirm if you arrived safely to work, safely back to base. Grinding his cheek into a throbbing pulp of tissue in his anxiety every hour in between. Poe collapsed into you, a smothering hug that dissolved into him just lying on top, weight on his forearms. He made an effort to consciously release the tension of the day, to melt into you and focus on the positive.

“Hmmmm. You’re extra cuddly,” you snickered. 

“Corazón... How was your first day? Tell me everything.”

“My boss Luke’s a character. He has a prosthetic hand that he apparently lies about?” 

Poe cocked his head slightly, like B.B. when a certain chord was struck on the guitar, and let out a laugh. Drawing his body closer, you responded with a bemused hum. 

“He seems cool, though. The lab is extraordinary. And there’s a section of the hospital that corresponds to the high-level clearance. There are some kids, the few who survived that elementary school attack but they are fully quarantined.”

“God,” Poe rubbed his eyes pensively, “must be awful for them.”

”They all have kidney failure. I wanted to scoop up every one of ‘em. Save ‘em. But there’s this one girl... Hila. Smart, I can tell. And so cute. She wears these pink slippers Luke gave her. They’re way too big and like obnoxiously fluffy but she loves them.” You recounted. “Her family is in Yemen still, and neither of her parents meets the transplant criteria. If I could’ve donated a kidney on the spot, I probably would’ve.”

A knot tied itself deep within his gut. If there was one thing Poe hated, it was the fact that children were targeted, but he also felt a sense of pride at your reaction. You didn’t only want to help them in a professional sense, you wanted to help in a personal one as well. Literally give a piece of yourself up to them. It was beautiful, and one of the reasons he was so desperately in love with you. Poe’s index finger absentmindedly played in your hair, face pressed against your sternum so he didn’t see the determination burning in your eyes- but he could feel it, just as clear as the vibration of your voice against his ear. “Maybe you can help her. All of them.”

“Maybe. I sure hope so,” you sighed. “Tell me about your day now. I’ve been rambling.”

”That wasn’t even close to rambling... but I’d be happy to hear you ramble about saving the world all night.”

”Your turn,” you insisted, gently poking Poe in the shoulder. “Were you okay today? I worried about you, too. Were you afraid to fly?”

Poe shifted on the couch and looked into your eyes. Although he overcame his fear, Poe couldn’t tell you he felt like a fraud as he was strapping into the F-16. He was still afraid of flashbacks, of dissociation when he was in control of a jet. And he needed to conceal the apprehension surrounding your commute through town, the fact that you’d be handling deadly substances again. You couldn’t know just how tense it made him, and the gun in your bag brought him less comfort than he hoped. 

“No, I’m not afraid of the plane. That was great, actually. What I’m afraid of is failure... that we’ll fight and drop bombs and it won’t make a damn bit of difference for these people. Or we’ll just make it worse for them.”

”We have to try. No one else is coming to help them.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you guys think Poe is reasonable in his anxiety? Or is “Corazón” being naive in her newfound optimism?


	10. Vitruvian Man - NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tense encounter forces Poe to confront his fear of losing control. You do you best to remind him to accept that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Gun violence 
> 
> There’s an extended, graphic sex scene in the middle of this chapter... light BDSM. So enjoy.
> 
> Chapter Soundtrack:
> 
> Brace (ft Rainsford) by Twin Shadow: https://open.spotify.com/track/5R96PHcqOGjgj23D98F6mf?si=EapVLwFwQAS4HXPiOVmt0w

 

 

 

“Give it to me one more time, simple.” Poe laced his fingers together, an earnest expression on his tired face. It was only 6:30 but it might as well have been past midnight for him, given what little sleep his hyper-vigilance had afforded lately.

”Well, what I’m doing is radiating the sample. There’s a special ultraviolet laser we blast it with to release gaseous ions. Those are collected and accelerated through the mass spectrometer, with ions traveling at a velocity determined by their mass-to-charge ratio— _Hey_. You’re doing that thing again.”

”What thing? I’m listening. Tell me more about the lasers.”

”But you’re doing that thing when you squish the space between your eyebrows.” Pressing your index finger into the deep furrow, you gave Poe a skeptical look. “I’m giving you a migraine, aren’t I?”

”Nah, just concentrating. I’m tryin’ to picture you in a beekeeper-looking suit, blasting deadly germs with a laser. And people think science is boring.”

Complicated as it was, Poe was interested. He followed along best he could as you explained your duties in the lab that day, changing out of your work clothes into something more comfortable as you spoke. The week had passed quickly as you both eased into new routines. Poe ran drills and sorties with Black Squadron, in preparation for Sandstorm. You became reacquainted with a level 4 laboratory, focusing on the precision of each test and visiting Hila in the quarantine area of the hospital at the close of your shift each evening. 

“Whadda you say we celebrate your first week on the job- Maybe that Indian place you saw? I’ve been fantasizing about vindaloo all day.”

You were aware of the subtext of his crew rest, that a mission of some importance was rapidly approaching, but chose not to speak about it. Setting your purse down, you knelt to pet B.B.- who had unsuccessfully been vying for your attention- before Poe helped you to your feet and smothered you in a kiss. “That’ll be perfect, as long as it doesn’t have camel meat,” you joked.

“You were never so high-maintenance before this fancy job,” Poe laughed as he located his keys.

The restaurant was close enough, a place you mentioned noticing the first time you made the trip to the hospital. Poe slung his arm over your shoulder as you walked across the base, recalling an anecdote about Snap playing bass back when they were in flight school.

Exhaust fumes from the dense traffic hit Poe’s senses as you reached the gate leading out of Al Udeid and into Doha itself. Stitched together by a thread of anxiety, Poe was felt like he was coming apart. He stopped joking, burying both hands into the pockets of his jeans, nervous that a display of physical affection would incite a confrontation with a stranger. Darting along the sidewalk, his hazelnut eyes became weary, suspicious. Instinct was taking over for Poe to wrap his arm around you, rest his hand on the small of your back, slip a palm into your pocket. Anything protective.

A small group of people spilled out of a clothing store close by, and a young man bumped into Poe’s chest. Voices overlapped, excitedly chattering in Arabic to each other. Poe jumped at sudden cluster of bodies so close and so loud. Instinct took over, and he jerked you back, fingers twitching toward the gun in his waistband holster out of sheer adrenal response.

”Babe! What are you—“

Heart frantic, Poe halted the motion before actually touching it. This was a family. Just a regular family, shopping for some clothes on a Friday evening. He looked into their faces and breathed a sigh. A son, about 13. Daughter, somewhere around 5. Three adults and a matriarch. Puzzled, the man’s eyes met Poe’s and searched for an explanation for the bizarre behavior. Poe turned to you then back to the family, who was already making their way down the sidewalk. The man paused, clearly unsettled, before reluctantly rejoining the group. 

Shoulders slumping, Poe leaned back against the front of the shop and closed his eyes to regain composure. He realized how close his fear had gotten them to tragedy and wondered if the boy’s father knew what he was reaching for. Had he been quicker, a round would’ve been embedded in that boy’s chest. Gulping down a mouthful of stale saliva, he looked toward you with apologetic bewilderment.  

“Let’s go back, it’s alright,” you insisted, a hand on Poe’s chest. It thumped erratically like someone tripping over a drum kit in the dark. “We can eat on-base.” 

Shaking his head, he pulled away and his eyes scanned the pedestrians mulling around the storefronts. You were trying to comfort him but you shouldn’t be touching in public, even if you were husband and wife. When Poe saw that everyone’s attention had slipped away from the minor interaction, he ran a hand through his hair. He wanted to go home, or at least somewhere he didn’t have to worry every second you were out of his sight- but he couldn’t hide on base forever. “Sorry, just a little jumpy. I’m fine, I promise. Let’s keep going.”

Concern hardened your features, lips a firm line. Poe could tell you were trying to be delicate about it as you leaned in close. “Jesus... He was a kid. A middle schooler, probably.”

Poe began walking again, guilty hands stuffed back into his pockets. He was terrified of what could’ve been, given faster reflexes, but didn’t want to ruin the night. “They startled me, that’s all.”

Relief cooled his nerves a bit as you sat down in the restaurant. Poe secured seats in the corner, less for the ambiance and more because he could see the door clearly. He started to order a Kingfisher then halted when he remembered Qatar was a dry country. Fuck. It was gonna be a long night.

Thoughts ricocheted around his mind, like the bullet almost put into an innocent child. They pinged off the inside of his skull and changed course in disorienting ways. Thoughts of helplessness, of Cassian’s fiery death, of the upcoming mission with Black Squadron- but he couldn’t speak. 

Phase one of Operation Sandstorm was nearly upon him, yet he couldn’t say anything about it. Silence marked the time leading up to those covert missions, and Poe had established a policy of ignoring the possibility of real danger. Before the accident, his optimism wouldn’t allow him to acknowledge the possibility of death, no matter how logical it was to do so. Unspoken looks between you and small moments already communicated it, the way he savored every contact against your skin before leaving. Now that optimism was in short supply. Poe felt he needed to tell you so much, but his mouth wouldn’t cooperate. He couldn’t tell you about the electricity that shot through his nerves every time he remembered that he was in the Middle East, or the lingering doubt about his ability to perform under pressure in the event of another dogfight. Rendered speechless, he hid behind the restaurant menu and tapped his foot against the floor. Chicken vindaloo, aloo gobi and two samosas. Poe had over-ordered, possibility to keep the silence from deepening. 

Poe couldn’t possibly do anything else to detract from your moment: Celebrating the first week of your dream job. Usually he’d be talkative, friendly with the staff and gesturing with this hands as he spoke. This night was palpably unique, a _quiet_ celebration, if it could even be called that anymore. Poe was an exhubrant man who whooped and hollered over the radio in the jet, who couldn’t resist shouting “Geronimo!” and doing a canonball or backflip any time he’d ever been in a swimming pool. Quiet was louder coming from him, so he tried to fill the space between with small talk asking questions about work.

When the food came, his spirit lifted considerably. Guilt still tugged at him as you stuffed torn edges of naan into your mouth, gushing about how strange it was eating lunch with Suralinda earlier in the day. Poe dunked a samosa into a container of tart tamarind chutney and smiled along, grateful you were happy here. At least one of you should be.

Lingering over the meal wasn’t an option. The sun was setting and neither of you had been in the city after dark yet. Eventually you would have to be, but it was still early enough in the fall for you to make it back to base before night settled. Poe paid the check in riyals and braced himself for another walk down the street. 

Streetlamps came to life, golden orbs lighting the way back to the relative safety of the Al Udeid. Poe set a brisk pace and stayed quiet, jaw tight as he scanned ahead for any threats. He was forcing himself to breathe, to glance your way with a smile every so often. Sometimes, he could tell that you wanted to twist his arm back into the socket to get him to speak, but you never said so. You didn’t quite have that look in your eye yet, but he knew you sensed it as you walked back to the officer’s housing. Rows of apartments here at Al Udeid, just like rows of apartments at Kadena. Yet it was so different here.

He let out an exhale as the front door clicked shut and he yanked off his boots and socks in the entryway. “I’m sorry.”

”It’s okay. You were scared. But you see why I’m afraid to carry?”

Humming, he hoped agreeing with you would mean avoiding a fight. “I still have to insist on it. The people we saw today might’ve been harmless but one of these days someone could try to do something and I don’t want—“

”You can’t control the world.”

”But you can prepare for it.”

”Poe, this isn’t you. You’re not suspicious of people like this. Is it... me? ‘Cause I’m here?”

”Yes,” he admitted. “I’ve never been this scared before. You’ve never been in danger because of me.”

You cradled his face as your lips met his, fingers slipping behind his ears. Poe sunk into you, finding solace in your kiss. Gently, you pulled on the fleshy lobes as you retreated, just enough to guide Poe’s head into a tilt. Pliant, he was willing to follow wherever you led if that meant being together. “You can’t always be in control. You’ve gotta learn to live with that and trust things will work out.”

”I’m sorry I ruined it tonight. I wanted it to be about you but then it got weird.”

”Nothing was ruined- and besides, the night’s still young.”

At a loss, Poe responded with another kiss. He wanted to communicate just a fraction of what he felt but words fell short even for that. So he wrapped his arms around you, and tried to show you instead. You breathed him in. Amber and cardamom and suede. He’d do anything for you, anything to keep you safe. He was yours. The kiss grew heated, soft at first then he was being guided back toward the bedroom. The night was still young, after all.

In the bedroom, the typical dynamic of your relationship wobbled, sometimes Poe found himself submissive and other times he exerted dominance. Often times it was clear which one you craved as soon as kisses turned to attempts to find the tonsils he lost two decades earlier. You’d pin him down with your thighs, eliciting a moan of false protest as you began to grind. Or you’d pinch your knees together and bat your eyelashes coyly, letting out a mewl as his hands parted them without resistance. This night, Poe wanted just wanted you. However you wanted it, he’d give it. Playful smartass was Poe’s default setting but he also happily played the part of the instantly docile fucktoy, the brutal soldier, and the impassioned Latin lover stereotype- a running joke that you ended up running with in a whole new direction one night after Sangria overindulgence. It didn’t matter as long as he could make your legs quiver and forget his worries temporarily.

“It’s still your night, amor,” Poe reminded you as his wide hands kneaded at your body. “What would you like?”

”I’d like it if you let go of control. Trusted me. And I think maybe you’d like that, too.”

”Don’t I always?”

Chaotic thoughts swirled in Poe’s mind, and he wanted them to be eclipsed by you. No more flashbacks or questions about the dubious politics of the war. No more visions of violence or anxiety about his role in this mess. No more worries about what would happen tomorrow as he flew over Iran. Poe wanted a total eclipse, a moment where it all was covered completely. A moment to release his tenuous grip on control and let you lead. 

He knew how you wanted him to begin.

Poe was an amoeba under a microscope as he pulled his shirt overhead. It didn’t matter how many times he’d been undressed in front of, against or inside of you. And the confidence he had about his looks didn’t matter either. He was flexing- not in an overt way but his chest and arms were taut under his olive skin nonetheless- and you were examining him, your slightly detached gaze raking up and down his body as he stood before you. Crossing your legs as you sat on the edge of the bed, eyes lingered on his belt buckle and directions came in the form of a single word: slowly. 

Before he moved to release the buckle, his palm brushed against the swell of his erection through his pants. It was more for your benefit than his pleasure, Poe wanted it to be fully hard when it was revealed. He wanted you to bite your lip when it spilled from his zipper. The leather moved through the loops of Poe’s jeans and you held out your hand, palm up. “I’ll take that, please.”

Poe’s square brows snapped together, head rolling back slightly. Now he thought of the friction from his wrists pulling against the leather, and found that the friction though his pants a moment ago to be unnecessary. A smirk lifted his face as he set the belt into your open hand then continued on to draw down the fly of his jeans. There were a million things he could say, but he didn’t want to risk being mouthy just yet. Better to be compliant until you really got going. 

His smirk triggered your own, and you snapped the belt loudly. “Did I tell you to stop?”

Right. Poe had paused as he imagined the possiblities but clearly you had an idea to put that belt to good use. And you’d get everything you wanted tonight. His jeans came down first, and he stepped out of one leg then the other before pushing them aside with a foot. Winding the leather around your palm, you let out an approving hum as Poe stood in front of the bed in nothing but a snug pair of boxer-briefs. He took it as an invitation to tease, although he was the one breathing hard and you had neither undressed nor touched him yet. 

Poe’s hickory eyes dimmed as his fingers wrapped around the outline of his hardened cock, but he didn’t break your gaze. He stared at the way your mouth parted, at the fingernail hooked in your bottom teeth. 

“Is there anything at the tip yet?”

”Not yet.”

”Stroke it ‘til there is. Show me.”

So he did, slipping the underwear off to expose himself entirely. Now he really was vulnerable to your scrutiny, but when his eyes opened your face was imbued with awe. A Vitruvian Man trapped within a Petri dish for you to examine. Utilizing the glide of his foreskin, he began with loose strokes that increased in speed as his arousal gained momentum. A private pleasure made performative. It wasn’t shame that he felt- After all, he’d masturbated in front of you many times while he was stationed away, thanks to Skype. But your eyes on him, watching hungrily as he jerked off... The vulnerablity of it was exhilarating and this wasn’t even the good part yet. 

Slowly down, a little quicker on the upstroke. There was something special about it, even those times it was through the less-than-intimate laptop screen. Voyeuristic and taboo. Poe always loved it when your chest visibly heaved as you watched his hand glide up and down his length. You’d lick your lips and he’d swear your mouth was watering. Even when you were physically together, Poe craved seeing that look of desire on your face. And it was there now: a raw want, a primal arousal. Nothing made him feel sexier.

Uncrossing your legs, you leaned forward. At the slit, a wet shimmer formed. “That’s enough for now. On the bed.”

Relinquishing to your will, Poe eased onto the mattress with his hands over his head. You stood, fully dressed, and sauntered over. Starting from the foot of the bed, you ran a finger along the side of Poe’s foot, past his calf, up his thigh, his hip, his lats and the delicate skin of his inner arm. Shivers electrified his body as your nail traced a path up its length. When his inner forearm gave way to his wrist, one was crossed over the other and you mounted him, straddling Poe’s chest as you secured them to the headboard with his own belt. He flinched as you pulled it tight and gave his arm a tug, making sure it was satisfactory. 

Nude.

Bound.

Hard.

Poe was at your mercy and loving every second of it.

Swinging your leg back over his chest, you pulled your weight off Poe and rested back on your calves. Mouth poised achingly close to his pulsing cock, you denied him the contact, instead swiping a thumb quickly over the drop of precome collected at the slit. He let out a shaky stream of breath. Climbing over his body, you brought the thumb to Poe’s bottom lip, dragging it down to expose a hint of the inner lining.

Jerking against the belt, Poe locked eyes with you. He didn’t grant it access, didn’t speak. His eyes said enough. He didn’t want this- but then again, it wasn’t about what he wanted, was it? The smear of moisture was on the tip of your thumb, hovering against his bottom teeth. Your eyes answered in a stern expression, a silent meeting of wills.

“Are you gonna behave for me?” you asked crisply. 

“I’d much prefer to taste you.”

”Open your mouth.”

So he yielded, eyes pinching closed as the taste and viscosity of his own fluid seared on his tongue. This was the first time Poe had tasted himself. Perhaps at some point during adolescence he dabbed an experimental drop on his tongue, but he had no such memory. Many times Poe had pushed his lubricated fingers into your mouth after pleasing you with his hands, especially when he was feeling dominant. This was unexpected but he figured it was just as erotic for you as the former was for him. 

”That’s right,” you cooed. And how he loved your praise.

Goosebumps rose across Poe’s chest, brown nipples tightening as your nails barely scraped against the skin. You grazed the pendant at his neck, the small gold talisman nearly a part of his body since he refused to remove it. For an instant, he wondered what it meant if subjugation felt this enjoyable. Perhaps the answer was in one of your anthology books, or discussed in a TED Talk you listened to one day while walking the dog. Maybe he didn’t want to know. Some things are better left mysterious, after all- like the knowledge of the taste of his own precome. 

“Please,” Poe whispered as soon as your thumb was pulled from his mouth. He was behaving, doing everything you wanted. He was good. He’d come this far but only you could grant him amnesty. Sweeping motions brought the nails on your non-dominant hand lower and lower, conjuring shivers of anticipation as Poe struggled against the belt. It stopped just under his navel where the hair grew dense. Your tongue ran over the thin layer of skin at his inner arm, following the green-tinted veins of his tricep to his forearm.

Delicately, you kissed him while unbuttoning your pants. Poe rose to meet you, longing for contact at last. It had been at least 20 minutes and his cock had been all but ignored. Cruelly, you pulled back. “Look at you, so eager...”

“Come on. No more teasing. I’ve been real patient.” Poe knew when to break out the Georgia charm, and threw in a set of puppy-dog eyes for good measure. “Let me make you happy already.”

“I’m plenty happy. And stop being so adorable.”

”I’m sorry. Am I making you break character?” To his surprise, he was sort of sorry. He couldn’t play submissive without your domination. 

“A little,” you laughed. One hand left your belt and threaded into Poe’s hair, giving it a firm jerk against his scalp. “All the more reason you should be punished, really.”

”Have I told you lately... that your face contains more beauty than a river full of fallen stars?”

An eyebrow shot up and the hands that had been easing your pants down froze. Then a grin slowly spread across your face. 

“Umm... it’s supposed to sound poetic. Does it sound poetic? I can’t tell because I’m lightheaded. All my blood’s in my dick so if you could help me out, that’d be great.”

”There’s my husband.”

Pursing his lips, Poe blew a kiss in response. Even when he wanted to be completely under your command, he had to be a little insubordinate. It was all part of the fun. Scoffing playfully, you leaned down and locked him in a heated kiss, sucking his tongue as you continued to yank on his onyx curls. Hair pulling was something he craved, the intimacy and the sting of it a powerful aphrodisiac. Each tug was met with a muffled noise against your mouth. 

Jeans and panties finally on the floor, you stood at the foot of the bed and removed your shirt and bra. Both hands moved up Poe’s legs, from his ankles slowly up his shins, barely grazing the hair there. Flinching at the tickle, he felt another jolt of heat in his pelvis as you moved up to his thighs. Crawling onto the bed on your knees, you locked eyes with Poe. 

“Corazón...” he begged. Desperation in his eyes, hair a mess from your fingers, mouth open as he panted for air. Poe was impossibly beautiful, bound by the wrists of his strong arms and waiting impatiently to be mounted. “Please. Please... I’ll be good. Let me be good for you.”

”You will. But not yet.”

Sumptuous lips hovered over his erection, while tender hands ran up and down his inner thighs as he squirmed involuntarily. Desire was going to tear his body in half, he was sure of it. Poe strained his wrists against the leather belt, worrying his bottom lip in his teeth. It hurt; he’d earn a lingering red mark there. Grasping his cock with one hand and cupping his balls with the other, you drew a single, maddening lick from the base of the shaft, slowly up the pulsing vein to the head. One gentle kiss nearly engulfed the tip between your plush lips and he groaned in frustration. 

Poe didn’t just need the wetness and heat of your body- he needed to feel possessed by you. 

Finally, you straddled him and continued to drown in his sumptuous kiss as you grasped his length. Poe’s head fell back as he broke from your lips, a moan escaping as the tip made first contact. Dragging it back and forth against the slick entrance made him delirious. You were refusing to grant him access yet. Making him squirm a little longer. Drawing out the torture. Then, a slow descent as Poe finally got what he wanted. He bucked his hips up as you brought yours down, and it felt like breaking the seal of an overturned syrup bottle with the tip of his thumb when he penetrated you at last. Warmth flooded his senses as you let out a delicious moan of pleasure. Then you smiled- and that was what he really wanted. To satisfy you. 

With an easy pace, you began to ride him. Poe’s wrists tugged against the belt as your nails raked teasing streaks across his pecs, his hands trying to find something to hold onto for leverage. Mouth curling in a devilish grin at the intersection of pain and pleasure, Poe’s eyes flickered darkly. Flushed pink, his smooth chest bore diagonal lines like contrails. Apparently you weren’t having much trouble getting back into character. Hissing between his teeth, Poe watched your face contort and emote as he lay helpless underneath you. Being passive was disorienting and freeing and fucking Hell, the fiery look in your own eyes threatened to undo him completely. 

Sweat settled in a thin layer across his chest, and every time you let out a cool exhalation, his skin broke out in goosebumps under the scratches. He bent his knees to help you get a better, more thorough angle. Your scent was overwhelming, sweet and warm in his nose as a contrast to the slight aggression. 

Poe wanted to be malleable for you. Clay on the wheel to shape as you pleased. 

Pressing down to take his thickness entirely, you let out a shaky gasp. He recognized your responses, the telltale signs of an impending climax. He would’ve been content to stay tied to the bed, reduced to a toy for your bliss, for as long as you needed. Poe had wanted to be used up ‘til there was nothing left- and he’d been damn excited to do that passively. Still, Poe yearned to curl his body to meet you, for his lips and teeth to explore your bare breasts as he thrust his cock up. Instead he arched his chest in a bid for more contact. You squealed in encouragement, a filthy little sound, as he inched you closer. He couldn’t help but moan out your name in response, a low and delicious register. 

All the tension of being restrained caught up with him, and Poe was barely in control. In fact, he _wasn’t_ in control at all. He pushed in, bucking his agile hips to reach that spot. An invisible tether, a line from his hips to your orgasm. Each one pulling the pleasure closer and closer to you. Warmer.Tempering his thrusts, Poe’s hands formed fists as he began to take your request to heart, trying to hold off until you were finished with him.

Your gaze softened as he felt a flutter. And there it was. Back arching, hands frantically searching for something to grab, moaning like you were on a desert island and didn’t have new neighbors (not that Poe minded anyone knowing he made you this satisfied). Pumping deeply through it, Poe felt even more wetness and watched in awe. You looked like some kind of goddess writhing around him like that. 

Aftershocks sent quivers up your frame as he recovered his pace. Both hands moved to his face, hooking behind his ears as you kissed with desperation. Powerful hips undulated against yours, striking the balance between force and finesse with each movement as your arms hooked around his shoulders. Poe huffed out, sweat collecting on his brow as he finished off with a rapid series of pumps. Sweet release. Poe came almost as spectacularly, letting out a strained noise- a cross between a whimper and a groan- as he submitted to your body’s will. And holy shit, did it feel good to finish inside you again. Pulling out wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but he certainly had his preference and nothing would beat the way it felt to experience the most pleasure within you. 

Dazed from crossing the threshold, you collapsed onto Poe’s chest as he began to soften within. Heart beating louder than a turbine engine, he waited patiently for the belt to be loosened and his wrists to be freed. After you did, Poe rolled to the side and wiped his brow with a forearm. A look of sheer contentment was on your face, hair and makeup a disaster and lungs heaving as you slowly came down. 

“What do you feel when I’m inside you?”

“Need. Just... need. Like I need you deeper and I need you to move and I need it. Like I’m not complete without you.” Silent at first, Poe moved some hair out of your face then trailed his finger along the curve of your jaw. “I feel like that all the time,” you elaborated, “that I’m not complete without you. I don’t just mean that sexually. I want you to know that.”

”I do.”

Poe smiled as you hummed in agreement and nestled within the crook of his armpit. “Ewww, don’t. I’m sweaty.”

“Don’t care if you smell like a wildebeest... or a camel,” you muttered. 

“I probably smell like curry.”

Poe wondered if you still felt safe in his arms after what happened earlier on the sidewalk, if he was losing his hold on reality and becoming a caricature of a loose-canon American soldier. He didn’t want that, he just wanted some semblance of safety.

—-

_Mi Corazón,_

_A lot of people write these dramatic goodbyes and I never wanted to before... I never felt like it was necessary, even in Yemen. But since Cass died and I saw Jyn grieving, I can’t deny the possibility. I can’t shake the feeling that something awful is just around the corner._

_If you’re reading this, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for leaving you behind, abandoning you the last thing I’d ever want to do. All I want is to protect you from harm or pain, and I can’t do that if I’m not around. If something happens to me, leave Qatar. Please. Go back to Lando’s house- promise me you’ll leave. I need you safe._

_You’re my everything. You know that. I love you completely, and will always remain utterly and hopelessly yours. You’re not getting rid of me, even if I’m dead. Deal with it._

_Sending my love from 40,000 feet,_

_Poe_

 ——

His sleep was peaceful and deep, drifting off in your arms before being shaken awake by that same dream. Screaming alarms as the jet spiraled toward the sea. The same dream he’d been having for months. Attempting to go back to sleep was futile, between the dream and the anxiety of the upcoming mission. He didn’t even have full control of his own mind or his own body. 

Poe plucked a dirty shirt from the small pile of laundry and pulled on his joggers, slipping out of the apartment silently as you slept. He took B.B. for a walk in the dry desert air, so thin compared to the thick humidity of the South where he was raised. He composed the letter on a park bench as the terrier sniffed around, while a cigarette bobbed from his lips. 

Evicerated by the thought of you mourning him if the mission went south, Poe began doing something he’d done for you many times since his first flight to Yemen. He wrote a love letter. Yet this letter was uniquely post-dated in that morbid way familiar to military spouses: ‘ _don’t open unless I’m gone_ ‘ was written across the face of the envelope. 

After a brief walk, B.B. did his business and Poe made his way back to the apartment as the sun was just beginning to warm the sky with tones of gold. Into the malachite-print box the sealed envelope went, perched atop the dense stack of letters from his deployment. For a self-indulgent moment of emotional flagellation, Poe imagined you sobbing, opening up the box in a fit of unbridled grief, desperate to hear his voice, read his words. The box would be opened and your swollen, puffy eyes would with it as you discovered a new letter on top and you’d receive a message of devotion from beyond the grave. Poe was always more romantic than you, but even he’d agree that was an overly melodramatic scene he’d constructed.

For the first time, Poe wondered if this was the flip side of the coin he’d been spinning since the accident. Heads, the bursts of fear and anger that flared in him. Tails, the sudden deluge of sadness that threatened to saturate his entire life. His thumb bristled against the corners of the worn envelopes that that carried his love 5,000 miles from Al Anad to Kadena. Across desert and mountain ranges and at least one major body of water, these pieces of paper traveled to bring you a bit of comfort. Poe prayed the letter he was adding to the stack wouldn’t need to fulfill that duty any time soon. 

Soon enough, the sun would rise on Doha. Poe would shower and zip up his flight suit and kiss you goodbye. He'd kiss the St. Joseph pendant and strap in to an F-16 headed toward Iran. And for the first time before a mission, Poe Dameron the so-called 'Miracle Man' who cheated death, was terrified.


	11. Milagro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe finds a renewed sense of faith during Operation Sandstorm; Tensions rise in Doha following a breakthrough at the World Health Organization epidemiology lab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Terrorism, Aerial Combat.
> 
> Chapter Soundtrack:
> 
> Wildfire by Little Dragon & SBTRKT: https://open.spotify.com/track/2WMRd3xAb9FwXopCRNWDq1?si=6KxPpuJURr258dlmGyTFMw

Twenty Four Years Earlier

_Small fingers gripped the shiny new telescope and deep chestnut eyes looked skyward as fireflies blipped signals of light across the yard. Stars above, fireflies below like some kind of distorted mirror. Poe’s stomach was heavy with the peach cobbler he insisted on in lieu of a traditional birthday cake, but he wasn’t ready to stop using his beloved gift just yet. Shara and Poe stood on the porch, illuminated by a few citronella candles to keep mosquitoes at bay. Han and Kes were talking transmissions and when his mother was distracted, Ben had snuck back into the kitchen for another plate of cobbler with far too much vanilla ice cream on top._

_“Mom, where does space end?”_

_Poe’s insatiable curiosity made Shara smile. She brought her face to the rubber eyepiece and studied the moon’s craters through it. “It doesn’t... At least scientists don’t think so. They think it’s infinite, that means it keeps going on and on.”_

_Infinity: the concept was fascinating, terrifying. How could something possibly go on forever? A dark void without end or beginning, it defied everything he understood about reality. He’d only turned 7 today, but he wanted to soak up knowledge and fit facts together in complex ways._

_When she pulled away, Shara found uncertainty in her son’s face. Her eyes flicked to her sister-in-law Leia, who had overheard the question. Poe was inquisitive and energized from the sugar rush just a moment before, but now he was still and reflective. “Is that scary to you, mijio?”_

_“Yeah. It’s dark... and it just keeps going on like that, dark forever.”_

_Hooking an arm around Poe’s shoulder, Shara answered, “But it’s not dark forever. What are we doing right now?”_

_”Ummmm... Looking at stars?”_

_She pointed up. “Bingo. So focus on the stars, focus on the light.”_

_Leia leaned back in her chair and looked toward the murky expanse overhead, scattered with the pinholes of white. “Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light;I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.”_

_“Sarah Williams.” Shara nodded, recognizing the poem about life and what lies beyond it. “I love that one. The Old Astronomer, right?”_

_”Yep,” Leia confirmed. She turned to Poe and tousled his curls with a playful pat. “You love the stars, right?”_

_Poe smiled, the gap of a single tooth forming an open window into his mouth._

_“So when you're scared, remember to focus on the light, like your mom said.”_

 ———

Present Day

Braided hair silvering, Leia looked more regal than ever through the Skype window on Poe’s laptop. He sighed as she waved goodbye and the window closed, the memory of his seventh birthday burning in his frazzled mind. The stanza Leia spoke that night had been added to the programs for Shara’s funeral when she passed only a year later, a fitting tribute to a woman who flew fearlessly and highlighted inspirational quotes in her day planner. The catalyst for Poe to later become a pilot himself. Leia recited it to Poe again when Cassian died and he called her, needing to find meaning and purpose amidst the raw grief. Poe wished he could speak to Leia longer, glean some wisdom or strength from her. His aunt was in Valdosta, tending her herb garden and doing political canvassing, and how Poe wished he could visit again. Belt out Celia Cruz songs together, even though Leia was always off-key. Listen to stories of his abuelo Bail like he was more legend than man, over a plate piled high with comfort food. He wanted home.

Rubbing gentle circles across his back, you tried to show that you understood. Poe savored the contact, but was unable to linger like he wanted. He leaned into your touch, confided that he missed his family on the other side of the world. 

Uncertainty permeated the space around this mission. It just wasn’t adding up. This was aerial reconnaissance— not really the domain of a small squadron of fighter pilots. They had intelligence teams using drones and satellites for these kinds of things, it didn’t make sense.

He didn’t know how long he’d be gone. Operation Sandstorm was based in Al Udeid but if shit hit the fan, anything was possible. Poe might not return to the base for weeks, or he might return the next night. If at all. That heavy feeling in his stomach was there- not the slight discomfort of eating too much cobbler but a barbwire knot of apprehension, sharp ends cutting into his entrails. “I probably won’t be able to check in often, but text me every night anyway, okay?”

”Poe. I’ll be fine. I’m literally just going to work and back.”

”And you’ll keep that piece in your bag?”

Reluctantly, you agreed, to quell his nerves. “I promise. Stay safe up there. Eres mi todo.” _You’re my everything._

Forehead pressed against yours, Poe repeated back the mantra of devotion. You gave him what he needed. Intellectually, emotionally, carnally, spirituality. He clung to your shoulders, inhaling the faint sweetness of perfumed skin. He wanted to memorize it, bottle it and carry it with him. Purpose was the glue holding him together as fear threatened to tear his mind apart. His purpose was to serve, yes, but it was also to love and provide and protect- but he had to leave. Poe kissed you goodbye, a sorrowful movement against your mouth. He bent down to pet B.B., who always sensed when Poe was leaving for an extended time, then your pilot was gone. 

 

———

Squinting over the spreadsheet full of data, Luke grumbled. “These spectroscopy readings are inconclusive. The first time I thought there must’ve been a contaminant in the sample to skew the results but this comes up the same.”

”No matches? Hold up—“ you pointed to the screen, “This. It has the same markers for Hantaan here, but a partial profile that looks a lot like anthrax here.”

”Hantaan was what we assumed at first,” Luke dismissed with a sip of his chamomile tea. “We’ve been giving all the kids intravenous ribavirin. That’s standard for Hantaan virus, if the patient comes in early enough. It was the best bet, but their kidneys are still shot.” 

“Look. It’s like a spore here, but like a virus here. I’ve seen a profile like this before, during my undergrad work. The spore is both the vehicle and the amplifier of the virus. ...it’s been cultivated like a vaccine, in reverse. Engineered to lower the host’s resistance.”

Luke’s face lit in awe, and he scratched at his beard. “We still don’t know why some of these kids are surviving when the majority hemorrhage right away, unless it’s some recessive gene giving them partial resistance...”

Luke got on the phone requesting a geneticist to review their charts as soon as possible. His face, so full of frustration before, was now hopeful. When he finished the conversation, he rested his elbows on the desk and shot you a charming smile. “Looks like you’re pulling your weight, kid.”

Energized by the revelation, the rest of the morning was spent poring over viral profiles until Suralinda and L’ulo came. At first they were disappointed that no one was ‘suited up’ because that made for interesting footage, but Suralinda grasped both your hands with a grin when you told her that you and Luke seemed to learn something new about the contaminant. Her topaz eyes sparkled, not only because this was potentially hope for the attack victims, but also because it was a great turn for the documentary. Then your enthusiasm faded and her face scrunched with concern. “This... this is good news though, right? You made it seem like good news—“

”It is. I’m just kinda out of it...  worried about my husband, Poe.”

”What does he do again?” L’ulo asked, setting his camera bag down on a desk.

”He’s a fighter pilot. He just left on a mission this morning.” You watched Suralinda and L’ulo’s eyes expand nearly double in size. “...What?”

The two exchanged an amused smile and then Suralinda spoke, “You’re coming at it from a humanitarian angle, he’s coming from a militaristic one.”

“Meaning?”

“You’re working to save people and he’s working to kill them.”

Defensiveness flowed through your body like a current. ”Poe’s concerns _are_ humanitarian, the missions he was most proud of were medical supply escorts in Yemen when the Houthi blockades were preventing ships from coming into the ports. He volunteered for this because he can’t stand by and do nothing while innocent kids are being killed.”

Heat rose up the collar of your blouse. You pulled open your purse and whipped the contents out. A stack of coloring books fanned out before L’ulo and Suralinda, who looked on in bewilderment. An orange post-it note was stuck to the top book, which was themed with My Little Pony. It read: _I had no idea how many to get. Hope this is enough for everyone_. 

“He got these at the commissary yesterday, on his own, and snuck them into my bag. I found them when I was already on the bus this morning. And he did this ‘cause he thought the kids in quarantine must be bored. My husband isn’t here because he thinks it’s fun to bomb Muslims, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Oh man... I’m sorry,” L’ulo answered, his tall stature seeming to shrink in regret, “Our experience has gotten us in close proximity to plenty of service members who do, unfortunately, but we should never have assumed.”

”A lot of ‘em have been meathead assholes who just want target practice with warm bodies,” Suralinda cut in. Her disgust for those kinds of people was clear, even if she had to be impartial in her professional role. Tilting your chin, you packed the coloring books back into your purse with a scowl and rose from your desk. L’ulo looked toward his shoes and then back to you. Suralinda hesitated as she searched for a corrective explanation. “Sorry if that sounded insensitive, it wasn’t meant to be. I don’t always have a lot of faith in people, given the attitudes I tend to see in this field. Sometimes it’s easy to forget about the good ones.”

Poe had just lost Cassian to this fight. He’d nearly lost his own life only months before. You wanted to shout this, tell them about the time he almost got into a fight because someone called his squad-mate a slur and insinuated he was some sort of traitor or saboteur because of his Iranian hertiage. Maybe they were jaded. Maybe you were naive to how pervasive the ugliness was when it came to his brothers in arms, but you knew Poe’s motivation was noble. Optimistic though he was, he wasn’t stupid- Poe knew military involvement here was about profit more than people. It still afforded him an opportunity to use his talents to help them sometimes, though. Doing something for them was better than the world turning their backs and doing nothing, wasn’t it?

Sharply turning on your heel to visit the quarantine ward, you answered. “Poe is one of the good ones. You have no idea what he’s been through or how he feels about being here.”

 

——

Flying was all about numbers. The F-16 Fighting Falcon was capable of a 50,000 foot altitude, officially, but Poe had gotten one up to 70,000 before. In it, he flew at twice the speed of sound, calculated trajectories on the fly, knew how much torque was necessary to pull off a maneuver. He knew the numbers. But was there a way to quantify luck? 

Aviation’s patron saint hung around his neck, a reputation for impressive aerobatics and speed stats preceded him, and his story was unbelievable: Poe Dameron, cheater of death. One simply doesn’t sustain a serious brain injury to not only land the plane, but to heal enough to climb back into the cockpit months later. There was a word people used when his story came up. Miracle. While Poe joked about St. Joseph having his six- and believed it on some level- he was uncomfortable with the term being used so loosely. But pilots, as mathematically inclined as they were, proved to be a superstitious demographic. They loved ‘lucky’ talismans. And they loved to tell stories.

Poe recounted the details of the flat spin and the compressor stall to Snap one day as they were doing pre-flight checks. Unthinkingly, his calloused fingers were drawn back to his pendant as he spoke and his friend asked about it. Poe shared its story, the wedding gift you gave him in Venice, meant to hang from the same chain his mother’s wedding band was on for so long. Luck encapsulated in a sliver of metal. Snap nodded, “It’s true then. Un milagro.” His Spanish pronunciation wasn’t bad for a guero, and Poe credited his commander’s upbringing in Brownsville for that. Despite Poe wishing his new call sign was less dramatic- or at least something that didn’t remind him of almost dying- it stuck. Milagro. He didn’t want to be known as the miracle man forever, the guy who survived. The last time Poe was on a mission was the first time he’d ever felt he wasn’t in control of his life. With a stubborn work ethic and second-generation drive inherited from Kes, he felt called to reach beyond what anyone ever expected from a small town kid. Tough choices, sacrifice and sleepless nights of studying went into this. Poe got where he was on his own merit. He’d always considered himself the one in control of his destiny but now Poe knew that wasn’t necessarily true. Humbled by the experience, he still didn't like the implication that it was only some sort of divine intervention that saved his life and not his own skill.

Satellite signals were scrambled in the airspace over Iran. Drones sent into the area for reconnaissance were disabled, falling out of the sky to the mountains below soon after they crossed the border. Intelligence was desperately needed as attacks grew more violent, spilling across the region. Bombs were falling again, on neighborhoods this time, and once the jet dropping them was identified as an Iranian HESA fighter, Operation Sandstorm was rolled out. 

None of this was usually the job of a fighter squadron, but here they were. 

Nightvision set a green filter over everything he could see. Iran was mostly mountain ranges for now, but they were dropping in altitude as they approached the target. It could be described as peaceful up there, beautiful even in the night. That was precisely what concerned him. This was an act of war: it wasn’t liable to stay peaceful for long. 

“Longhorn is one of the stupidest call signs I’ve ever heard,” mused Jessika over the radio. 

“Excuse me?!” Snap answered. “UT Austin is a fine school and—“

”Haven’t I warned you all,” Karé cut in, knowing her boyfriend's love of college football meant a rant was coming on, “not to ever deride Texas in any way around Snap? Now we’ll never get him to shut up.”

”Ya mess with the bull, ya get the horns!”

C’ai, who had been silent until this point, cracked up. Jess couldn’t help but laugh along with him and Karé.

“Was that... was that a Breakfast Club reference, Longhorn?” Poe snickered in a brief break from his anxiety. He could almost feel the heat of Snap blushing in the F-35 just ahead. He and Karé most definitely had a thing going on, despite policies against fraternizing. Poe smiled to himself. Good for Snap. 

“Maybe we can do a movie night after this mission is over," the commander suggested, "Top 3 teen ‘80s movies, Miracle Man. Go.”

Tension eased slightly in Poe’s shoulders as he rolled them against the seat, considering the question. “The Outsiders, all-time favorite. Second... hmmm... Back To The Future. And Karate Kid.”

”Maybe Milagro is appropriate,” Jess teased. “You actually stopped Snap from talking our ears off about Texas again.”

“Don’t mess with Texas,” Snap shot back with a chortle over the radio even though Karé would surely roll her eyes so hard she’d need glasses afterward. He was intent was to keep the squadron’s morale up until they were in the thick of it. An alert sounded that the group of pilots was 5 minutes from the target, and Snap whittled his focus back down to the mission. “Okay, look alive Black Squad, we’re comin’ up on it.”

Worn hands told the story of Poe’s mental state: the cuticles picked jagged, the gold ring signifying his place by your side, the fingers wrapped around the throttle so tightly his knuckles blanched. His eyes scanned the control panel and grew wide when he didn’t see his squadmates on the radar. He blinked hard and checked again. “Guys? My equipment’s goofing. I can’t see any of you.”

”Ugh—“ Karé toggled a switch as she cursed under her breath, hoping to find an easy way to recalibrate it “—same here.”

Mumbled lamentations came through the radio, confirming that all digital imagining signals were scrambled. Poe’s palms sweat around the throttle, senses heightening as the realization of their vulnerability struck him. Essentially blind over hostile land. "Operation Sandstorm? More like Operation Shitstorm. I've got a bad feeling about this."

“Easy, everyone,” Snap reassured his squadron, “We knew it might get disabled. That’s not much of a surprise. We were chosen for this because anything remotely piloted has been disabled as soon as it enters the territory. Stay sharp.”

Poe followed closely behind Snap, flanked by Jess and Karé. C’ai held up the back end of the formation, though Poe didn’t have eyes on him. Poe was nervous but tried to remind himself that someone of his pedigree could certainly do this. He was the son of a Special Forces solider and a cargo pilot, the nephew of an airlift helicopter pilot. The grandson of a couple who brazenly protested a government killing its own people. Sure. Of course he could fly effectively blind on a bullshit reconnaissance mission over hostile territory. That was just the kind of thing the Dameron-Bey family did.

About 3 minutes out from their target, formation broke. A series of shots tore through the night sky, barely missing C’ai in his F-35. He dipped down for a moment before recovering his position. “Whoa! A HESA.”

Wild eyes scanned the landscape, tinted in the verdant tones of nightvision. Things began to blur, edges softened and depth flattened. Poe was fading away, stepping back and letting his own personal autopilot take over- and at the worst possible time. A coppery tang poured onto Poe’s tongue as he bit down on his cheek hard, piercing the soft inner lining. It tasted like sucking on a handful of pocket change and drew him back into this moment. He wasn’t made of wood or metal but flesh. This was _his_ blood, he was alive. And if he wanted to stay that way, he couldn't afford to dissociate. What was he supposed to do when he felt himself slide away? Ground himself? The term was unsavory from his current position, and it’s not one well-liked by pilots to begin with, but that’s what he needed. Grounding. His brow furrowed as he poked the gap with the tip of his tongue, anchoring himself in the senses. Taste, check. 

Red light whirled toward the group, who splintered off in opposite directions. Poe managed to control his hands enough to drop a flare, hoping the heat signature would draw the missile toward it while they maneuvered away. Outside the polycarbonate bubble canopy, the world had taken on the quality of an animated movie where things were just different enough to tell it wasn’t film. He couldn’t make out any enemy aircraft yet, but he was starting to sync back up with reality. Almost there. Sight, check. 

”Return to sender,” Snap chuckled into the radio as an AIM-9X burned across the sky toward the opponent. Two could play that game. The familiar voice was smooth in Poe’s ear through the helmet radio. Breath came in ragged gulps as tried to slow it back to a reasonable pace, oxygen hissing loudly through his life support mask. Sound, check. 

Snap’s AIM-9X disappeared into the night.

A duo the Iranian jets spiraled seemingly out of nowhere, coming up fast. Flanking the squadron, they moved like sharks. Three HESAs, five American jets. At least they had the advantage. 

“I’m calling it. We’re headed back, surveillance just isn’t worth it.” Hopefully they flew close enough to the compound to bring something useful back to Intel. Snap didn’t like this mission to begin with, and he wasn’t about to knowingly put his squad in danger. Didn’t make much sense to go deeper into Iran when they were already showing exactly how hospitable they felt. At Snap’s command, the squadron punched it to Mach One, heading back toward the border.

Whooshing filled Poe’s ears as they ascended, his body struggling to adjust to the sudden change in pressure. The jets followed, climbing. C’ai was falling behind as one of the HESAs charged forward in an intimidation tactic. Two hardnoses were fired, sending a spray of light into the darkness. 

Too close for comfort.

“I can’t shake ‘em, they’re right on top of me.” Worry was evident in his tone. C’ai was the least experienced of the group when it came to such dangerous missions, but he was a trusted wingman. The group rejoined each other, a diamond shape. 

Wetting his lips, Poe assessed the sky. He had to do something. “I’ve got a terrible idea. Snap. Cut the power. Just do it— we’re at 33,000 feet, you’ll be fine as long as you get it back online within 20 seconds.”

”You’re joking, Dameron!”

“Just hear me out,” Poe blurted. “Jess... How do you feel about fishing?”

“I’m vegan,” Pava snapped back. Poe would’ve let out a slightly awkward huff, if it wasn’t such a dire situation. 

“Well, I’ll be the bait if you agree to reel 'em in. C’ai goes left. Karé, right. Snap drops and Jess, climb high as you can.”

She hummed into the radio of her helmet, emblazoned with a cobalt lighting bolt. Of course she could climb— but why break formation? “And just where will you be?”

”I’m gonna drop father down with Snap. Bait above and bait below. They’re gonna be caught off-guard... then I'll loop right behind them, with any luck.”

His squad-mates peeled away from formation according to plan. One HESAs chased after Poe in his F-16. The remaining enemy fighters stalled a moment then dropped two heat-seeking missles after C’ai. He deflected with a flare just as Snap cut the power to his engine, sending the jet and Snap within it plummeting toward the ground. It worked; they both decided to go after Snap, whose own engine soon roared back to life. Poe breathed a sigh of relief that his idea didn’t just send a teammate to his death. Quickly, Poe summoned his courage and allowed himself to plummet closer and closer to the HESAs. Perpendicular to the ground. It went against his every instinct to be in a plane without a working engine, but he could do this. Probably. 

Gravity wanted so badly to claim him. Death and gravity often conspired against dogfighting pilots. 

Air screaming past the canopy was a completely different sound than the engine. He’d heard it before and it all came back, taking over Poe’s thoughts like a metastatic cancer. The 44th squadron above the Port of Midi. Bodhi shouting over the radio, Cassian’s confirmed Air-to-Air kill. Spiraling toward death in a killing machine with a faulty air compressor. His lungs fought against the oxygen in his mask, thick as molasses. Desperate for relief from the confines of his nightvision visor and life support mask, Poe unsnapped the bottom and flipped the visor up. 

No. No. 

He had to focus on this moment if he wanted a chance of seeing your face again. Breathe. This wasn’t Midi. This could be different.

C’ai was out of immediate danger now, but Poe wasn’t out of the woods just yet. He set his brow in a focused scowl. After working out a velocity equation in his head- the equipment was all still dark- he mumbled a prayer and attempted to restart the engine of the falling jet. Aerial combat sure had a way of galvanizing his faith. 

Re-animating with a fury, the engine tumbled and Poe gave it everything he had. Mach One. Mach Two and his body shifted in the harness. A reminder of where he’d go if he ran out of luck: up and out over a desert. The pistol in his survival vest did its part, reminding him of your vulnerability on the ground in Doha. Poe didn’t want you to have to open the letter he deposited into your malachite box the night before. Memories crashed over him and he thought about the faint scar on your abdomen, the daughter he never had a chance to hold. He wanted another chance at starting a family with you, and he could wait. This wasn’t the end of your love story, nor the end of his luck. Maybe he’d make good on that new nickname and pull another miracle.

Up. Up. The nose of the jet pointed toward heaven.

Poe’s heart went ballistic as he guided it farther up, 40,000 feet. 50,000 feet and alarms began to sound, the abrasive female voice of the flight system automated warning grating on top of the buzz of the engine.

“I've gotcha, but they're coming!” Pava’s voice was panic-soaked. Flares dropped around Poe, curling trails of light in the nightvision green. Another hardnose approached fast.

C’ai was descending, a HESA not far behind. Poe could do this. Probably. With a muttered appeal to whoever or whatever helped him survive last time, he hit the trigger. Light bloomed as the connection was made. Steel and fuel and an engine capable of marvels, but the HESA Axarakhsh burned just like anything else. It burst white as it plunged toward the ground, gravity so greedy to claim it. He didn't see the pilot eject.

Adrenaline coursed through his body, and Poe held his breath. He couldn’t see past the explosion. “PAVA!”

"...Fuckin' Milagro," She laughed in disbelief over the radio. The laugh of someone who brushed against death's cloak but didn't allow themself to be led into darkness just yet. The other HESA dropped, spiraling away toward the rocky peaks below and gaining on C’ai. She watched the ball of flames descend, knowing it could have just as easily been her or another member of Black Squadron.

Poe let out a loud whoop into the radio, not quite out of joy but out of a need to release the energy electrifying his body.

“On my way,” Snap assured. He and Karé kept pressure on them, dueling and intimidating but unable to quite catch up. 

Pulling the yoke back, Poe brought the F-16 into a loop. Blood rushed to his ears, a scream of adrenaline with each heartbeat. Now he faced down, straight down like a lightning rod. The equipment might have been useless but the circle of the afterburner engines gave away their positions. As soon as C’ai dove to the left, Poe hit the trigger. Three clicks.

Held breath. 

One pilot bailed, the canopy shooting off as they were jerked upwards by sheer wind force. Another blaze of light, flashing intense against the flatness of nightvision.

C’ai was so close, he could nearly feel the heat of the blast. His head whipped around, seeking the third plane. “He’s gone?”

”Look West,” Snap answered. The last HESA was retreating. “He’s leaving. Holy shit... What did I tell you guys? Dameron is a madman.”

The rest of the group concurred, relieved voices praising him for his quick thinking. Poe answered with a meek thanks, because it was a team effort. 

Darkness enveloped the Iranian sky, true colors of aubergine and indigo since he removed his visor. Thousands of stars, the same ones he’d point out to his mother. The same ones you pointed out to him, making up custom constellations. He needed to focus on the light. Every point of light from across the night sky. Poe would soon be coming home to you, his own personal source of light. And he was thankful he didn’t need to call on St. Joseph for a miracle tonight. 

 

———

With Poe away, you found yourself craving the comfort of the familiar. The whirring of the wheel, the texture of slip squishing between your fingers as you shaped a clump of clay into something beautiful. It called to you, a way to lift the sense of dread that blanketed over your domestic life since moving to Al Udeid. There was inspiration here, found in the eyes of the children in quarantine and in the sparkle of light that illuminated the skyline at dusk. When you the stores on-base didn't have the supplies you needed, you found an art supply shop not far from the WHO outpost at the hospital, and headed there on your day off. Arabic lessons on DuoLingo kept you occupied during the bus ride, headphones in as you swayed with the turns. Although you promised Poe you’d only leave the base for work and head back immediately before it got dark, you made an exception. Just this one time. A quick trip.

With the first paycheck earned from WHO, you bought a pottery wheel. Even if there was a good studio nearby, Poe would be a wreck if you went into Doha alone after work often. You’d still need to find a place to fire it, but one thing at a time. Creating at home would be less stressful for everyone, give you more time to focus on the process. You arrived at the shop, browsing racks of dry pastels and paintbrushes designed for different techniques before bringing a few pounds of clay to the register. Lugging it to the bus stop was the worst of it, but soon you were riding back to Al Udeid, daydreaming about the creations you'd soon make.

A boom snapped you out of your reverie, followed immediately by the frightened shrieks of your fellow passengers. The bus slammed to a stop, catapulting you forward into the seat in front. Ears ringing, you turned your head to see, only to be met with a sharp pang in your neck. The impact must've jammed something out of place.

Chaos erupted, half the riders ducked down into their seats or rushed to the left side of the bus, away from the sound. The rest surged toward the large windows on the right side, yelping in at least three languages you couldn’t understand. Like the tower of Babel, voices bounced off the smooth interior of the bus, amplifying in collective panic. Outside the window a cloud of smoke rose up, about one block over, close to where a school was. Horror. The source was indistinguishable, and as the blood drained from your face, you wondered if whatever it used to be was completely obliterated in the blast. Who was taken with it. Who would be taken in the days ahead, hemorrhagic fever ripping through their bodies. Who would survive, only to live behind shatter-proof glass in the quarantine ward. Who would die waiting for a kidney transplant.

Frozen save for trembling hands, you slumped down into your seat. So close to death. You were so close to the suggestion of death at work daily, but this was different. It wasn’t contained in a Petri dish or a glass slide;you weren't wearing protective gear. This was visceral and intimate. Like the faces of the quarantined children, or the haunting photographs that L'ulo took in Yemen. The fight had come to your doorstep. Instinctively, you whipped your yellow scarf up and wound it around your neck as a sort of makeshift air filtering mask. There was no definitive safe distance when it came to the contaminant, if this blast released one. And a thin scarf wasn't likely to give any protection- but doing _something_ felt better than doing nothing.

Cries continued to ricochet off the curved ceiling of the bus, off its advertisements and schedule postings. It didn’t feel real. It couldn’t be real. You could smell the explosion now, sickening. Heart pounding, you looked toward the cloud, peeking out from the buildings as pedestrians fled. Faces you couldn't make out. Terrified eyes bounced around the bus, a child’s wail lodging into your chest like an auditory harpoon. You gestured to her mother to cover her nose and mouth like yours was. She reached into her bag and pulled out an extra headscarf, fashioning it on her daughter’s small face in a similar fashion. Fear and gratitude in her eyes, she gave you a silent stare before her lips formed a steely line and she went back to comforting the girl. And you couldn’t help but stare back with bleakness in your eyes. You knew what happened to most children exposed to the mysterious illness. Catastrophic hemorrhage. And if that didn’t take them, renal failure would. 

Your phone vibrated within your purse, and you dug into it with one hand, searching. Coolness from the Beretta’s metal side sent a jolt through your fingertips, reminding you just how frightened Poe was of this situation. Poe was right. Neurotic as he'd been about it all, he was right. Finally, you located it and answered without even checking the display. Orchestrated attacks had happened before, detonations all timed within the same hour. Wherever he was, he was also at risk. 

“Poe?! Baby, are you okay—“ 

Barely able to hear over the crowd, you pushed the receiver close to your ear, desperate to hear the deep voice of your husband.

”What? What’s going on?”

Just like that, the frenzied atmosphere of the bus faded back. The disembodied voice on the other end of the line made you seize, gripped by shock for a brief moment as you struggled to formulate a response. Poe’s cafe con leche-soaked vocal chords didn’t produce this, but it was familiar. At one point, it had been the voice that told you to figure things out on your own. At one point long ago, it had been the one to even sing lullabies. It had been at least two years since hearing its unmistakable cadence. She always did have impeccable timing. 

“Mom? Is that you?”

——


	12. Solid As A Mirage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grappling with guilt, Poe returns from his mission; an influx of new patients following the attack stirs unexpected emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief mention of addiction and terrorism.
> 
> Chapter Soundtrack
> 
> Incinerate by Sonic Youth: https://open.spotify.com/track/3cOT8vd89VWX2ivf2Ao1D1?si=YmPkOJNlSaqZH6nf53PavQ

Poe never thought he’d find a measure of solace in the urban skyline of Doha, but then again, he’d been surprising himself since he arrived. A whistle of relief blew through his lips as he guided the F-16 into the hangar after four days of fly-overs in Yemen and Iran, and he was eager to be back. He unzipped his flight suit for ventilation in the desert heat and made his way to debriefing, bumming a cigarette from a member of ground crew along the way. Jess and Karé split off for a quick bathroom detour, and the guys went on without them. C’ai lagged behind, engrossed in his phone, leaving Poe and Snap to lead together.

Snap’s heavy hands landed on Poe’s shoulders with a thud. He didn’t realize how much tension they still retained until they made contact, the swath of muscle hardened by anxiety. “How you got me to turn off my engine, mid-flight, over hostile territory is just beyond.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Poe teased, passing the lit cigarette to his Commander then accepting it again. “All I have to do is bat my eyelashes and you can’t resist me.”

Snap rolled his eyes. “Apparently so. That trick work on your wife?”

”She’s immune to the charm. Why, you wanna try it on Karé?” Poe asked, a lopsided grin forming when Snap’s eyes widened in surprise. Clearing his throat, Poe ashed with a flick of his thumb. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe, buddy.”

Snap paused, gingerly searching for a place to segue away from his love life. He looked like he was trying to find a hold on a rock-climbing wall. “Are you okay? I know the attack scared the shit out of you, but she’s alright.”

To say it scared Poe would be a gross understatement. When their landing gear touched down for a refuel, Poe heard the news and frantically called your phone, pacing the hangar. He didn’t breathe until he was reassured by your voice, and even after the conversation, he held it because it was common for attacks to be orchestrated across cities. Instead of napping between flights, he was texting you and refreshing news websites obsessively. Snap chose to tread lightly when it came to the subject of your safety.

“Yeah, I’m fine”. The easygoing smile broke a little, and Poe reminded himself it was true. You were still whole and healthy. “She was shaken up pretty bad when we talked, but I know her, she’s gonna throw herself into work as a distraction. God, she’s something else. I always got good grades but I’m an absolute dumbass by comparison.”

“We all need something else to focus on when things like this happen,” Snap shrugged. The self-depreciation brought back the levity he so desperately needed. “And I wouldn’t argue against the dumbass assessment... Glad to see what little brains you have haven’t gone to your head.”

After the flight debriefing was complete, Poe gave each of his team members hugs and sprinted to the officer’s housing unit. His hip ached from hours in the cockpit, despite the fracture supposedly being completely healed. 

Even if the front door didn’t creak, B.B.’s exuberant yips and barks announced Poe’s arrival home. Kneeling, he scratched the terrier’s back and belly before unlacing his boots and leaving them by the door. He winced at the smell; his flight suit wouldn’t be much more pleasant once it was peeled from his body. 

Early evening light streamed in through the curtains, and Poe noticed the new pottery wheel in the kitchen. Unformed masses of clay were spread out on the table, over a plastic drop cloth. You’d been working on a project, the first since leaving Okinawa and the studio Baze and Chirruit ran there. His gaze moved to the bookcase, to the rows of vessels and bowls you made, poetic in their simplicity. The kinsugi vase he got for your anniversary: a beautiful, broken thing made whole again, cracks and wounds filled in with a precious metal. Voice drifting from the bedroom, he could tell you were on the phone. B.B. circled his feet as he made his way toward you, but as he approached, he heard a knot of emotion wedged in your throat.

“Lando— I know you meant well.”

Poe stood in the doorway silently as you paced the room, speaking to your godfather. Clay still speckled along your forearms, work apron over your clothes. Lando must’ve called while you were throwing. If you had noticed Poe’s return, you made no effort to acknowledge it. It stung, particularly after he’d made himself nauseated worrying about you every second of the mission. Still, seeing you with his own two eyes as the golden sun filtered into the bedroom took a weight off his chest. 

“Of course she did! She always asks for money, that’s the only time she calls. You know that,” you continued, gesturing though Lando couldn’t see. “Yeah... I told her no and she screamed at me.”

Heart sinking, he realized why you were so wrapped up in the argument. He’d seen you like this only once before, when your mother climbed her way out of obscurity to ask for a money wire via Western Union. Never mind that you were a broke undergrad at the time, or that you could’ve used her support otherwise. Poe watched it unfold with a mix of resentment and sadness; no one in his family struggled with addiction. He didn’t know what it felt like firsthand to be torn between helping and enabling someone you loved, but who was so unwell, they were incapable of properly loving you back.

“She didn’t even seem worried! I answered the phone right after a fucking bomb went off ‘cause I was still in shock... yet she still proceeded to tell me about the drama with her boyfriend getting fired,” you pinched the bridge of your nose, looking out the bedroom window. “It’s pathological. There’s a terror attack in my neighborhood and it doesn’t even register with her.”

Sighing in resignation, you finally turned to notice Poe. Heavy circles had settled under his eyes, making them look set even farther back than usual. His whole face looked dark, crestfallen as stood in the doorway, curls distorted and sweat-soaked from his helmet. Despite this, he was a welcome sight. A faint smile flickered, and you gasped- phone still pressed into your ear- rushing to embrace your husband, breathing in the JP-8 fumes that clung to his crinkled flight suit. 

“Lando, Poe’s home! He just got back. Can we talk later?” You paused as he responded, Poe’s fingers entwined with your free hand. He scraped a little clay off your wrist with his fingernail while you said your goodbyes. “Okay, I promise I’ll try to stay safe. Love you too.”

Wounds from your past had been ripped open, salt poured in for dramatic effect. Poe reeled you in close, though he could feel that a part of your heart was across the ocean. Part of you was in the past, revisiting the relics of a broken childhood. He didn’t say a word, examining your eyes as he caressed your cheek. A single tear had pooled just above your cheekbone and he banished it away with a thumb. How could he convince you that didn’t deserve this kind of relationship with someone who should love you unconditionally? That you weren’t destined to become like her? 

His body was substantial, despite his fairly short height. There was a comforting gravity to fall into, head on his shoulder against the array of patches sewn into the fabric. Thoughts surged within his mind. About you, isolated again on the far side of the world. About the potential family that flashed before his eyes during the dogfight. About devotion and what it meant to accept someone wholly, unequivocally. Poe cradled the back of your head, the texture of your hair familiar across his wide palm. “I’m here. It’s okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

It needed to be said, but he wasn’t sure if it was a lie or not. 

Arms wrapped around Poe’s neck, head on his shoulder, you wept. Part of him wondered if there was a positive way to spin this: if bad parents were some sort of gift, seeing as how they prepared you for the unfairness of life better than those who were doting. But there wasn’t. Pain had blindsided you both, as children and as adults. There wasn’t a way to placate the molten pain in your heart, so he held you instead. He held you as long as you needed it, until you released him with a sniffle and looked up with red-rimmed eyes. 

“When I heard what happened, all I could think...” his voice splintered. It didn’t matter that you’d already talked about it on the phone. Despite how strong he knew you were, you looked like you were fashioned from crepe paper, liable to be torn apart by a breeze. 

“It was awful. I could smell the burning. People were crying, shouting, praying. I put my scarf around my face but like... a lotta good that’ll do, right? I think we were far enough away from the blast, I couldn’t really see it.”

Stomach in a freefall, Poe hadn’t really considered how far the pathogen could travel airborne. All the news reports had been saying it was in the water. Moisture shimmered in his eyes, as he leaned back, hands bracing your arms. “How far were you?”

”One block, maybe two, but buildings were obscuring it. I could only see the cloud.”

One block. One block between the person he loved most and an inferno. Poe shuddered to think of how close that was. He wanted to throw you over his shoulder- kicking and screaming, if need be- strap you into one of the jets with a copilot seat and personally fly you back to San Francisco and the safety of American soil. Lando always welcomed you, and it wouldn’t be forever. Poe could handle being apart if it meant your survival.

He didn’t doubt your capabilities or your quick wits in an emergency. He wouldn’t have given you the gun if he didn’t trust that you could handle yourself, should the need to use it arise. But darkness encroached upon Poe’s thoughts, and his intuition hadn’t stopped going off like a warning beacon. He didn’t trust that the danger had passed. In the Middle East, lasting peace seemed as solid as a mirage. Here his sanity itself felt like a mirage, a trick of the mind catering to his desire for control, only to dissolve when he tried to precisely locate it. 

“I shouldn’t have let you come here, it’s too dangerous. I couldn’t live with myself if—“

“I made a choice and a promise. We stick together.”

“Corazón, I’ll never regret being with you. You keep my feet on the ground. I just need you to be safe.”

Your nose crinkled, rejecting the thoughts Poe hadn’t even said aloud. But you knew how strong his instinct to protect was, the drive to guard his partner from harm sometimes overriding his capacity for a civilized discussion. You didn’t want a fight, neither of you had the energy for it. Poe looked like a sandcastle about to crumble at any moment, but you countered, “You know I’m not going anywhere. This is where we’re both meant to be. We just had a major break with that pathogen. Luke called in a geneticist to work with the survivors—“

Fingers clenched the fabric of your shirt. Poe drew in the earthy scent from the clumps of clay that stuck to your wrists and hands, and hung his head. This was ridiculous. Someone else could do it. There were plenty of scientists who either lived in Qatar or would be willing to travel. It didn’t have to be you. “Fuck you’re stubborn! This is life and death.”

”Exactly. Which is why I’m staying. This whole thing is bigger than us. I can’t let my team down and I know you understand that. They’re counting on me.”

Understanding all too well, Poe huffed and pressed his forehead against yours in the doorway. His recognized that his anger was back, and he stuffed it deep down, confined to his rib cage. Gnashing. Scratching. Craving revenge. It wanted out, like a feral animal. He was angry at the Houthi. Angry at your mother. Angry at himself- but he wasn’t actually angry at you. He was the reason why you were both in Qatar, after all. Being away from his brothers in the 44th squadron while he healed ultimately brought him back to the desert. For Cass. For Bodhi, who was slowly recovering in a hospital in Germany and who may never fly again. He joined Black Squadron for them. 

Poe’s tone softened, but the vein on his forehead still pulsed with stress. You were right, and besides, he didn’t have the energy to argue even if there was the slightest chance of swaying your decision to stay. He crossed the room to the unmade queen bed, sitting on the edge. Curling into himself, his elbows rested over his knees in the filthy flight suit, head in his hands. “I just wish there was another way. I don’t want to live in fear; I don’t want the people here to live like this, constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

”Me too,” you answered, joining him. Your hand traced down Poe’s spine and back up again, speaking the language of loving touch. Maybe you needed the reassurance just as much as he did. He wanted to caress you, too, but his joints were rusty hinges locking his tired body in place.

Guilt tugged at Poe as he recalled firing the shot that sent the enemy jet into flames. Although it wasn’t confirmed yet, he was sure the pilot hadn’t ejected. This whole situation was FUBAR, and Poe was apprehensive about Sandstorm from the start. Now it definitely escalated and for what- more confirmation that Iran was financing and providing support for the Houthi? They knew that already, it was a redundant mission that only succeeded in raising tensions between the two countries. An air-to-air kill will do that.

And Poe was the one who pulled the trigger.

Black Squadron was told to engage if necessary, to fire at will. When Poe did so, it was for the survival of his squad mates, not even hesitant in the moment. And he wasn’t ashamed, because he’d do it again for them. But how many lives would this cost? He wondered what the Iranian pilot was missing, who was missing them. He wondered if you could sense something was different about him, that he’d taken a life since he held you last. Would his hands ever be tender enough to be worthy of holding you, now that they were bloodstained?

”...Babe, are you okay? Did something happen out there?”

Brow deeply furrowed, he nodded with downcast eyes. He couldn’t talk about the harrowing experience; at least until it was declassified, seeing as how the mission was covert and Black Squadron didn’t even officially exist. If this incident triggered a full-on war, he would bear a responsibility, even though he was following orders. It would haunt him. 

“I just—“ Poe’s shoulders trembled as he tried to compartmentalize the pain. He couldn’t burden you with this, even if he was allowed to. An ache he couldn’t quite locate was swelling beyond his chest and even beyond his body, reaching out to you. Guilt hovered over him like a specter but he dare not speak its name. “We can’t let this stop us from living but every goddamn cell in my body is screaming to protect you. I’m your husband and I’m supposed to keep you safe. It’s who I am.”

You lifted yourself off the bed and stood between his knees, holding his head against your stomach. Poe sunk into you, into the clay-smeared apron protecting your clothes. Hands sliding off his temples, he gripped your waist. As Poe pushed his face into your abdomen, he envisioned the scar just left of your navel, jaw clenching at the devastating memory. No. He needed to focus on the light, not the void around it.

Dropping to the floor, you situated yourself between his knees. Two fingers grazed over his lips, to softly quell his fear, and he could smell the traces of clay in your knuckles and under your nails. 

“And I’ll never ask you to be anyone else.”

As he leaned forward, you gently kissed over his right eyelid. Softly, over his left. Just like the night of Cassian’s funeral when he dammed his tears and tried to barricade himself behind a wall of alcohol. So much tenderness. From that simple action, it was clear that you sensed the darkness around Poe but you accepted it- accepted him. Unlike that night, his hazelnut eyes didn’t release a cathartic deluge of tears. He restrained himself, uncharacteristically stoic when he wanted to bury his face in the valley of your breasts and sob. 

You were his place of shelter, apart from the discord of the world. If only he could give you the same refuge. 

———

The first few days after the attack were the hardest in the hospital. It simply wasn’t equipped to handle the influx of patients in the quarantine area, nor to treat them all well. Three, four or more patients to a room, given antivirals but not much hope. On day two after exposure, a third of them died from catastrophic hemorrhage. By day three, it was half. 

As much as he advocated seeing the quarantined patients usually, Luke advised you not to go. Better to not get attached, he knew this all too well. Luke was plagued by the memories of gaunt faces, which should have been lit by the energy of youth, going sallow and lifeless behind glass. Powerlessness was an emotion familiar in Doha, rising to impact even those as intelligent and powerful as Dr. Luke Skywalker. 

Nevertheless, you found yourself cross-legged on the floor in front of the thick glass panel of Hila’s ‘room’ on your lunch break, typing questions into your translation app. Though tethered to an IV pole that provided her a steady stream of ribavirin, she sat on a pillow just opposite you. Communication itself was hit or miss, but your Arabic skills were improving- at least you could greet her and say farewell in her native tongue. Regardless of the linguistic challenge, you both enjoyed the companionship. The young girl nodded or shook her head to answer, sometimes excitedly spouting off a story in Arabic, muffled by the divider. Still so animated, full of imagination and dreams. Hope. Hila emitted it so purely, the same feeling as watching the sun rise.  

Poe’s gifts hadn’t gone unappreciated. As simply as you could, you’d told her that your husband was a pilot. It was mostly through charades, showing her a photo of Poe in his olive-colored suit, leaning against the ladder of an F-16. You tried to explain that he wanted to help, just like you did. In response, she drew a plane and two happy faces and pointed to you. It was a gift in response, one that you couldn’t accept. The My Little Pony coloring book was her favorite, and Hila had a knack for creating lovely blends with colored pencils. When asked which pony was her favorite, through the screen of your phone so that she could read the query in Arabic, she flipped to a page with a Pegasus she colored blue. Rainbow Dash. 

Pink, fuzzy slippers still adorned her small feet, but your heart wrenched when you noticed the swelling in her lower legs had gotten even worse since your last visit. Daily dialysis wasn’t going to be enough for long, she needed a kidney transplant soon. The hijab-clad nurse that usually cared for her updated you, and mentioned that her parents were caring for their other children in Yemen, but planned on coming in two weeks time to stay with her. They called her daily, at dawn and mid-day, just after salat. A predictable rhythm of prayer and support from her parents was formed, around the hospital routines. Hila needed that, she deserved to be comforted by her family now. You each pressed a hand to the glass to say goodbye, her round eyes calling you to stay longer. 

“Hey,” Suralinda called from the hall, holding a to-go cup. She wore a large pair of earrings that were ornately carved of some sort of horn, no doubt a token from one of her adventures. “I hope you’re not still mad at me. Brought you a peace offering- mint tea.” 

“Thanks. We’re cool. I just get defensive when Poe is lumped into that category... We have a bit of a love/hate relationship with his job right now.”

Suralinda tucked a few strands of braids behind an ear. “Because of the attacks?”

”You have no idea how protective he’s been... He almost asked me to move back to the states, but I refused.” Mint tingled down your throat as you sipped the tea, refreshing and soothing all at once. ”It’s really personal, he lost almost all of his previous squadron to the one at Al Anad. His best friend, even. So it doesn’t matter how unlikely it is for me to be caught in one, because it’s real to him.”

She tilted her head in understanding, and then motioned to the far end of the hallway toward the rest of the quarantine rooms. “Did you see the new ones? The baby?”

It was as if an air lock was opened and all oxygen was suddenly sucked from the room. 

You’d purposefully only visited Hila and avoided the rest of the patients, because it would be too hard to bond with new ones only to watch them die. It felt bleak, but you were only trying to protect yourself. “There’s a baby here, too? God...”

Taking a sip of her tea, Suralinda began to lead the way down the hall. The passage was winding, corridors in the building designed for containment rather than efficiency. The duct system was especially bulky in the quarantine ward, with each unit requiring its own air source to prevent cross-contamination. The boy was at the far end, closest to the pedestrian bridge that connected the WHO facility to the rest of the hospital. “He’s alone. His parents were Nepali nationals working here. Apparently they were far enough away from the explosion, but they died shielding him from debris when the ceiling of the cafe collapsed.”

“How do you know this?”

”I’m a journalist; it’s my job to uncover people’s stories. When the baby came in, he was the youngest survivor. I did a little digging and found out about his family... or lack thereof. He’s a ward of the state now.”

Fiddling with the tasseled ends of your favorite scarf, you tried to steel your emotions as you approached the partition at the end of the hall. Even so, your stomach contorted when your eyes moved past the monitors and equipment to the profile of the boy in the bed. Wisps of chestnut hair framed his face, tiny fingers curled around the hem of his miniature hospital gown. He was nearly two, not far from the age your daughter would be now, if the pregnancy hadn’t been ectopic, and a phantom pain seared deep in your abdomen at the realization. 

Suralinda crossed her arms, watching as the boy slept. He looked serene, but you both knew that his life right now was anything but. How does one explain to a frightened toddler the nature of this situation? The biohazard suits the medical staff wore while interacting with him, the glass separating him from the familiarity and comfort of the outside world. The fact that he could never again find solace in his own mother’s embrace.

”What’s his name?” It was probably best not to know, but you were compelled to ask- even against your own best judgment. 

”Baaligh. I think I’m pronouncing it right, at least.”

Rich, chocolate eyes fluttered open and the young boy sat up, rubbing them in bleary confusion. Dropping the end of the scarf, you raised your hand in a gentle wave. It contrasted strangely with the powerful burst of maternal instinct that his round face summoned, but you offered a smile. And the boy returned it. Baaligh: the newly orphaned toddler, alone in a clinical room behind glass, actually found a reason to smile in you. 

Vibrating in your chest, your heartbeat threatened to reach a frequency capable of shattering said barriers so you could hold him. 

”Mrs. Dameron, come quick!” Luke cupped his smooth prosthetic hand to his mouth as he waved you to the end of the hall with L’ulo. Dr. Mon Mothma, the geneticist from Stockholm had arrived and was standing next to them. “I think you’ll wanna see this.”

——

The colonel was an imposing man, harsh like he was craved of granite. And it was clear that Poe wasn’t prepared for a meeting with someone of that caliber today. His hair needed a trim, curls just starting to wind. He could use a shave, stubble dusting his jaw. The pink glaze in his eye communicated he could use a nap, too. Still, he found that he liked the pilot.

”That’s quite a record, Captain.”

Poe squared his shoulders, nodding slightly. “Thank you, sir.”

“And your father was in Kosovo, Special Ops?” The colonel flipped through a file, thick with information from his time airborne with the 44th Squadron, when he was in flight school and the years he spent as an engineer. He peered over gold-rimmed glasses at Snap and Poe, who stayed at parade rest. “Mother a cargo flyer. And you got an award for breaking a few records during your training.”

”That’s correct.” It was in his blood, a call to duty. His family’s legacy. The cockpit was one place that always felt right to him. 

“You’re one Hell of a pilot, but don’t think for a moment that you can’t lose it all. Take another risk that big and your wings are mine.”

Poe wasn’t sure if he was expected to flinch at the admonition or smirk with pride at the compliment. So he stood stiffly, fighting the urge to grind his teeth against the inside of his cheek. He’d worked too hard to earn them the first time, paid his dues and waited patiently as his nature would allow. Now he had them back, after a few listless months of recovery, and he wasn’t ready to lose them again. Sometimes the sky was the only place Poe had the opportunity to truly be useful. 

Snap interjected, “Sir, Dameron’s actions saved the life of Lieutenant Threnalli—“

“Commander Wexley, you not only enabled Captain Dameron, but you followed suit.” The Colonel scowled at Snap, whose fingers had curled into a fist. “If this is the attitude your Squadron is going to have...”

”It won’t happen again, Colonel.”

After a few more tense minutes, the two were excused with minimal repercussions. Poe pushed the door open with more force than necessary, stormy eyes fixed straight ahead. 

“What’s up with you?” Snap questioned as they stepped into the sun, patting his pockets of his ABUs in search of his aviators. It was clear that Poe was upset about more than just the briefing. Poe tilted his chin up and marched forward, ignoring this friend. “Hey... you need to talk to me. C’mon. You know I stand by you, we did exactly what we were supposed to. They knew there was a risk of engagement, that’s why they sent an experienced team.” 

He didn’t acknowledge his Commander, and Snap grabbed him by the arm. Something was wrong. “Tell me. I need to know if you’re good to fly.”

Jerking his arm back, Poe hissed out, “I’m good.” He split off, making his way toward the bar on-base. 

Snap stood in bewilderment, watching Poe stomp toward the bar on-base. Rules of the Muslim nations were bent for service members, but alcohol was strictly rationed enough to either be buzzed for a while or tipsy briefly. “Poe! Hey... let’s not do that.” 

“Give me one good reason why not,” he shot back, eyes alight with something Snap couldn’t quite label. Poe wanted to disconnect from this place, from himself. If he had the ability to dissociate on command, he would’ve faded away right there in the conference room. 

Snap blinked in surprise at the outburst and searched his mind for an alternative. “Because it’s bullshit to try and drown whatever you’re feeling. And you can’t get good and drunk here anyway. Tell you what: I grab my bass and meet you at your place in 15. We don’t have to talk, we just play.”

Strings and frets had always brought Poe comfort, and the idea of strumming alongside Snap actually didn’t sound half bad. Part of his mask fell away, just for a moment, and Poe responded with a frail smile. “Yeah Snap, I guess.”

——

“This is unbelievable... it dovetails so well with Dr. Mothma’s research.”

Luke cast a sideways glance to you, and his eyes twinkled with the sort of pride you’d only seen in Lando’s face before. Was he becoming a sort of surrogate father figure? 

Mon Mothma tapped a ballpoint pen against the edge of the table, elegant in her auburn pixie cut and chic European style. She’d flown all the way from Stockholm, at Luke’s request, because the information you uncovered was so promising. “Because of your findings, Mrs. Dameron, we know we need to take a two-pronged approach to this. These kids have a fighting chance now, thanks to you.”

A flush of heat infused your cheeks, and you shuffled weight between your feet. It was awkward enough to accept praise from them, but the situation was made worse by the reflective lens of L’ulo’s camera pointed in your face during it. A moment like this was good footage, you supposed, but you’d never get used to being followed around by a documentarian every moment at work. He sensed how vulnerable you felt in the camera’s eye, teetering on the edge of bashful, even.

This was why you let a thin layer of latex be then barrier between you and a slow, painful death by infection. This was why Poe donned a helmet and flew directly into sets of enemy crosshairs. You were warriors- albeit in different ways- and this was your purpose. 

“Alright then,” you smiled to the group, “let’s get back to work.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why YES, I did just throw a baby into this turmoil! 
> 
> *rubs hands together like the Angst Raccoon I am*


	13. Paper Plane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snap reaches out to Poe in concern; A meeting at the WHO facility brings you and Poe closer together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Soundtrack-
> 
> Turn Blue by The Black Keys: https://open.spotify.com/track/1pwWrPxonLIE12WWu9NzgU?si=z42-Jb3LQqyYIpri7tDrAA

_I still carry the weight like I've always done before_  
_It gets so heavy at times but what more can I do?_  
_I got to stay on track just like Pops told me to_

Snap’s grip wound around the neck of the bass guitar as he settled back onto the couch, watching Poe practice. It was the first time he’d been to the apartment, and although you still were far from settled after the move, the personalities of its occupants were starting to show. The oversized bookshelves, two rows containing the pottery you made. Another cluttered with vintage binoculars Poe had inherited from Kes. Countless vinyl records. It was beginning to feel like home, ambivalent as Poe was about calling Al Udeid that.

Poe’s singing voice was rougher than when he spoke, slightly deeper and well-suited for the genre. As expected, he didn’t make much eye contact with Snap for the first half hour, strumming his acoustic Gibson. Snap was a patient man, and Karé was busy with Jess today, so he was content to poke around the apartment and give B.B. attention until Poe quit moping. 

_I remember the times when love would really glow_  
_Like a dream I had before my world turned blue_  
_When the light inside would only shine for you_  
_I really don't think you know, there could be Hell below_

Rising to his feet, Snap examined the framed photos on display, lingering on a black and white one featuring a man with two children. Distinguished cheekbones, dark hair. There was some resemblance to Poe, particularly in the eyes, which were kind yet intense. A preschool-aged girl with double braids smiled in his lap while he clutched an infant wearing stripes. “Who’s this?”

 ”My abuelo Bail,” Poe answered. “My Aunt Leia, my dad’s the baby.”

”Are you close?”

”To my aunt, yeah. My dad died a few years back and I never met my abuelo.”

Snap nodded, and took another sip of his iced tea. B.B.’s thin tail wagged against his leg.  

“He was executed,” Poe continued softly after a pause. “He was a vocal critic of Castro, and was gaining some underground political traction. Snatched right off the street one day when he was on his way home from work. My abuelita fled to the states after they told her he died of natural causes while awaiting trial... but everyone knew the truth.” 

”A man with conviction. Maybe that’s where you got it from.”

”My dad always felt like he needed to make something of himself, you know? Prove he was worthy of being here. Guess that’s a very first and second generation thing. I try to make them proud.” 

”I’m sure they would be.” Snap’s eyes drifted over the other photos, of Kes and Shara on the Yamaha, of you and Poe covered in sand at the beach. They lingered over the wedding picture, taken in Venice. Sunlight dancing off water, white lace, two incandescent smiles. He knew what Poe was most afraid of: losing you. “It’s gonna be alright. You need to back off her, before you’re both miserable.”

Turning the machine heads on the black guitar, Poe chose not to look up. His chest was still so heavy, it might as well have been filled with cast iron. Both men knew exactly what they were talking about. 

“She’s my responsibility—“

”She’s an adult, and can handle herself. None of us know what tomorrow will hold. You gotta accept that or it’s gonna tear your marriage apart. You’re a mess, dude. And if you need help it’s okay.”

Poe pulled his knees to his chest defensively, feet on the couch. He gave B.B. a pat on the head. “She’s at risk here, every moment. And now with the... after Sandstorm... I just worry I’ve made it even more dangerous.”

”Whadda you mean?” Snap sat back down on the couch, facing his friend. “It’s your fault if something bad happens?” 

“Do you really think there won’t be some form of retaliation after two downed aircraft? There’s blood on my hands.” Poe needed something, a shot of Patrón, a smoke. Something to calm his nerves because music and conversation weren’t exactly cutting it. “It’s obvious where we came from, considering Al Anad is only working at like a quarter capacity since the bombing.”

A rebuttal to this didn’t come easily, but even if that did happen, Poe wasn’t the one to blame. Snap dragged a hand across his beard. “Orders were to engage if necessary. The Iranians fired first. You didn’t create these problems and you aren’t gonna solve them.” 

“I know. But just going there escalated things and it’s only a matter of time before... fuck. I hate it here. Know what I fantasize about?”

”You seem like the kinky type so I’m afraid to even go there,” Snap joked. Poe turned away with a dry chuckle. If Snap only knew. 

“Just going back to Georgia and living on my family’s old property- it’s still in my name, just being rented out now- and tending the orchard. Raising some free range hens. Having a family.”

”You crave more adventure than a peach farmer’s life.”

He could picture it clearly: a tire swing hanging from a magnolia tree in the front yard. A child on Poe’s shoulders, tiny fingers reaching for a fuzzy piece of fruit. You returning home exhausted, Poe rubbing your feet absentmindedly while watching TV. Simple and domestic. Safe. It felt like a Norman Rockwell painting compared to life in Al Udeid, where Poe fired missiles and you tried to make sense of chemically engineered weapons. 

”Maybe, but that’s what I think about. I want her to be happy and she would need to be doing something fulfilling in her career, too. But I think of going home when my commitment’s over. It’s what keeps me going. Not that I don’t love flying—“

“You just love her more.” With a hand on Poe’s shoulder, Snap nodded in understanding. “So try to show her that, give her those peaceful moments here. Really, if you keep focusing on the negative, it’s only gonna drive a wedge between you.”

Snap didn’t take the ‘tough love’ approach that Cassian favored, but he was right: Poe was at risk of losing his job again if he was reckless, and at risk of losing you again if he held on too tightly.  Sighing, Poe stretched his legs out across the couch and Snap settled into the adjacent armchair. The terrier hopped into his lap, pushing against his palm for scratches. “I know you’re right. I’m gonna try harder.”

He needed to keep his eye on the light, lest he allow more darkness into your lives.  

 

—— 

 

The camera was getting heavy on L’ulo’s shoulder. Dr. Mon Mothma had been working with the hospital’s nephrology team for a couple of weeks and Luke had been serving as a liaison between them and the epidemiologists. Staff members from multiple departments had gone back and forth between the buildings all day, primarily using the pedestrian bridge between them, at the far side near the quarantine ward.

“Can you explain again how the trial will work?” Suralinda asked, for the benefit of the documentary. 

Dr. Mothma was a dainty woman with a pixie cut that framed her pale, birdlike face. She gestured to an anatomical diagram on the wall, “Our study in Stockholm proved successful in reaching two types of cells; these cells secrete proteins that gum up the kidney and cause irreversible damage. Our researcher also showed that the genetic material was transferred successfully to the targeted kidney cells.” 

Hope was in the room, a presence undeniable. It sparkled in Suralinda’s topaz eyes and in Dr. Mothma’s uplifting tone.  

“So, when is it gonna begin? The gene therapy?” You straightened the lapels on your white lab coat and thought about the kids in quarantine.  

Luke spoke up, “Officially, that’s a hospital undertaking. The WHO can’t be affiliated with the study at this time.”  

“Why?”

”There’s a conflict of interest with the funding. We’ll still be contributing information and resources, but the findings are on the nephrology team. Don’t worry; it’s not gonna compromise their care at all.” 

The group of doctors murmured in acknowledgment, and after a few more minutes of sharing the plan, Dr. Mothma and Luke called for a break. Luke took you to the side as you began to make your way to the pedestrian bridge on the third floor, when you hear L’ulo’s baritone voice ask, “Who’s that?”

Footsteps echoed off the streamline surfaces of the hallway as Poe caught sight of you through the cluster of white coats. The trademark style of your hair and the canary scarf, which now became a regular staple of your professional wardrobe, were easy giveaways. He jogged toward the group, waving his hand to catch your attention. Showing up in civilian clothes in the middle of the day, he hoped to be more of an unexpected surprise than a nuisance. 

“Hey! What are you doing here?”

His eyes were fixed forward, the needles of twin compasses. Pointing always to you. Embracing you for a quick kiss, Poe explained. “I have some crew rest and wanted to join you for lunch. Is this a good time?”

Scanning him, Suralinda found Poe was short. His dense and compact body in jeans and a navy button-down looked almost petite next to L’ulo’s towering Polynesian build. Still, something in his eyes lent him the aura of power, but she couldn’t quite discern if it was determination or ego. She turned to L’ulo incredulously. “Wait, that’s her husband?” 

“Perfect timing, in fact,” you answered. “We were just headed to the cafeteria together. How’d you know I’d be here?” 

“I actually got lost looking for the WHO wing. There’s supposed to be a bridge this way, someone said,” he extended a hand, “Sorry! Where are my manners? Pleased to meet you both, I’m Poe.” 

Earnestness in his smile instantly made Suralinda regret the assumptions she had made about his character. With her hand still in his, she examined the man who supposedly had come here to fight for the people. He certainly had a face for the camera, and didn’t look like a good old’ boy- plus, he was married to a scientist. Poe Dameron would be a good subject in the film, she concluded to herself. “Suralinda. Charmed.”

”Okay, okay! You can let go of his hand now, Linda... Remember he’s married. To her,” L’ulo chuckled and titled his head toward you as he squeezed Poe’s hand. “L’ulo L’ampar. Thank you for your service.”

Poe never knew how to respond to that, so he gave a small nod to the cameraman. He knew he’d probably run into the documentarians but it was still a little nerve-wracking to introduce himself to someone who was famous. A nervous hand skimmed over his freshly cut waves as you began to lead the way to the cafeteria. Suralinda and L’ulo accompanied you through the halls, winding like a labyrinth. L’ulo flipped the camera back on, fixing it on you and Poe as you walked hand in hand. Poe turned over his shoulder with a palpable discomfort every so often. When you arrived to the cafeteria, you grabbed two falafels and two drinks, making conversation with the two filmmakers before retreating back to the WHO building.

“Sorry about them filming everything. It still makes me nervous, too.”

”It’s cool. You’re a part of this,” he assured, plucking the last olive from a pita and popping it into his mouth as he walked. 

”I usually swing by to see the kids on my break... is that okay?”

”Of course! Yeah. Would I- would I be able to meet them?” Poe asked before immediately backtracking, “Wait. That’s weird to ask isn’t it?”

“No, it should be okay. I need to take you through the front through ‘cause there’s security, but let me see if we can give you a VIP tour.” 

Winding back through the long way, you texted Luke to ask for Poe to be let into the quarantine section. Surprisingly, he allowed it right away, on the grounds that another visitor might be good for Hila’s morale. You exited the main hospital building and crossed toward the WHO facility farther back. Poe noted a difference right away, in the form of a security guard posted at the entrance. You were let in through the double doors, using your access badge, and Poe given a pass that he stuck over the left pocket of his shirt. 

 Industrial-strength disinfectant stung his nose as he entered, the door locking shut behind you as a safety precaution. The lab was a blue and white maze of clear glass, posted warnings and pin pad-secured doors. As you walked, you pointed out the biohazard suits worn when handling samples or quarantine patients. Poe got a heavy feeling approaching the sample cabinet, and wondered if you felt that way at work often. People always said he was brave- and maybe he was- but he didn’t study things like Ebola up close. Far as Poe was concerned, his own courage paled in comparison. 

Awkward ducts hung from the ceiling of the corridor leading toward the rooms, and you explained that each section of the building had its own dedicated air supply, to prevent cross-contamination. Independent backup generators for the main rooms also functioned separately, to protect from an accident if power went out. Poe took in a deep breath as the doors swung open for the quarantine ward, after you flashed your badge at the closed circuit camera. He liked the layers of protection in your workplace, though he wondered if the guard out front was armed. “Sure have a lot of security.”

”We can’t afford to be careless. We’re in the business of preventing epidemics, after all, not spreading them.”

Suralinda and L’ulo sped up, meeting you in the ward just as Poe approached the wall of Hila’s room. The pair tried to be unobtrusive, curious as to how the pilot would react to seeing the survivors of the attacks for the first time. L’ulo’s camera continued to roll. 

“Alaikum-Salaam, Hila! Hadha zawji,” you spoke through the glass as the young girl sat up with a grin. Gripping his arm, you motioned to Poe, “Poe. Hila.”

Impressed by your ability to pick up Arabic, he shot you a smile before turning to her. Hila steadied herself using the IV pole as she slipped her swollen feet into the bubblegum pink, shaggy slippers you’d told him about. Malnutrition from growing up in Yemen during a civil war made her look even younger than 11, her actual age. Rainbow leggings under Hila’s gown protected from the hospital chill as she snatched a drawing off the wall and held it up to the glass. Two simple faces with u-shaped mouths and round eyes, and a plane. “Is... is that us?”

”Her way of saying thank you for the colored pencils and coloring book. All the kids liked them but she was probably the most excited.”

Was that a pebble in his throat? Poe blinked slowly and knelt down in front of Hila. “Thank you. I like the way you made my jet purple, it’s a lot prettier in purple than it is in grey. I wish I could hang it on our fridge at home.”

Poe realized that she couldn’t understand the words. That was alright. In his time in the Middle East, Poe had only learned a couple phrases and even then, his pronunciation was likely inaccurate enough to cause misunderstandings at best and insult at worst. He might not be able to communicate outside of Spanish or English, but he always knew when someone was being kind. And Hila deserved kindness- every one of these kids did. It was apparent that you understood and agreed, because you made no point to stop Poe or correct him. 

Mostly through the translation app, you talked to Hila, who showed you a few more drawings before a staff member showed up with her meal. You waved and said brief hellos to a few of the other patients before reaching the end of the hall and turning to Poe before approaching the last room.  

“What’s wrong?” 

”This... last boy is the sole survivor of the last bombing. The rest have all already died.”

Throat sluggish, Poe gulped. “You didn’t tell me that.” 

”You’ve been so busy and stressed, I didn’t want to—“ 

A few nights last week, Poe had woken to find you in the kitchen, hands in a lump of clay. You’d offered a small, exhausted smile and shrugged it off as excess creative energy that needed an outlet. Now he knew that wasn’t the whole story, but he couldn’t fault you for it. Poe was trying to navigate through guilt and grief, while trying to manage his fears and stay positive. He was juggling so much, he almost forgot how much of a toll your work could take. “I want you to tell me everything, Amor. Don’t carry this alone; you don’t have to.”

Gutted, like a fucking catfish. That was how he felt stepping closer to the plate of glass. A boy with a high, rounded forehead and a Cupid’s bow mouth squinted in concentration, babbling to a set of Matchbox cars. He wasn’t hooked up to an IV now, but the room was filled with bulky equipment Poe couldn’t identify. A camera directly over the bed must’ve been how they kept continual supervision on him, despite the safety protocol. “You didn’t say anything about him being so little.”

Poe knew why. That’s why it felt like he’d suddenly gained a gaping hole in his torso. But he understood the hesitation after what you’d lost, after how you’d almost lost each other not so long ago.  

“Baaligh...” you spoke, voice softer than usual.  

His face dropped even more, eyes round with what could only be described as shock. “Wait. Bail? Did you just say Bail?”

”Like your grandpa? No, it’s Baaligh,” you explained, putting more emphasis on the last syllable of the toddler’s name. “But close. I didn’t think of that.” 

His mind returned to Snap perusing the photos earlier. Poe wanted to catch glimpses of his family in your son’s face. The parenthesis carved on either side of his mouth, the heavy, mostly straight eyebrows. He wondered how your skin tone would mingle with his, if he’d crinkle his nose like Kes when he laughed. Looking at the Dameron family photo albums, it was clear that the men all had strong genes. Bail was visible in Kes. Kes was visible in Poe. Poe had always assumed they would be visible in his son. Now he wondered again if he’d ever be a father.  

Baaligh’s attention was diverted from his cars, and he skittered over toward the door in a pair of rubber-soled socks. Rich, tawny skin was visible between them and his tiny hospital gown and you were relieved to see his legs hadn’t begun swelling yet. They were wobbly from his age, though. 

“Hey, sweet boy! How are you?” Sing-song quality in your voice, you dropped to your knees to meet the child. A glow lit his face and he lifted both hands high into the fair, fingers wiggling. Maybe this was a little move that corresponded to a nursery rhyme, like the finger movements for the Itsy Bitsy Spider. Maybe it was something his parents did with him. 

Poe didn’t want to blame you for taking this away from him, because he’d never force it on you, but goddamn it hurt to watch. It hurt to hear what baby talk sounded like coming from your mouth. 

“Hi.” It came out like a tumbleweed, dry and hoarse. Without turning away from Baaligh, you blindly reached for Poe’s left hand and squeezed. Touch couldn’t comfort the boy right now but it could soothe him. Poe clamped around it, pursing his lips. He couldn’t look at you right now or he’d break down.

The sounds spilling out of the boy’s mouth weren’t coherent enough for the app to indentify as words, so mostly the visits were loose games of charades and gentle smiles. Poe took a knee and pressed his hand to the glass and Baaligh pulled his thumb out of his mouth to follow suit. A smear of saliva arched across the glass and Poe met it with an amused chuckle, turning to you. A brittle but authentic smile was on your face, which changed in emotion when Poe’s eyes met it. The grip around his hand increased and you released a sigh. It was starting to hurt but you needed it. And what was a little more hurt? 

Poe wasn’t sure how to entertain a kid so young without being able to physically play with him, and looked around helplessly for a moment before he got an idea. He pulled your purse open and peered inside to find a cosmetic bag, headphones in a wad, and a bag of Skittles. The Beretta weighed it down, hidden in a side pocket. Well, that wouldn’t do. He dashed behind the empty nurse’s station. 

“Get outta there!” you harshly whispered, whipping your head down the hallway to find Suralinda and L’ulo lurking at the end of it like a couple of predators. “Do you know how much trouble—“

“Done! No harm, no harm.” A piece of printer paper aloft in his hand, Poe shot you one of those disarming grins. Simultaneously mischievous and sweet. Like he’d done hundreds of times before, Poe folded the paper down the middle lengthwise and then tucked the front corners inward. Soon, he launched the paper plane high in the air with a whistle. Baaligh squealed and clapped in approval, Poe convinced his heart simply wasn’t large enough to contain what he felt knowing the boy felt delight because of a small thing he did. He repeated the action again and again, sending the blank sheet flying through the air in front of the glass plate before running after it animatedly.

Pretending to trip over his own boots the last time, Poe rolled onto the tile floor with an “Oompf!” and a cross-eyed face as Baaligh collapsed into a fit of muffled hysterics. Poe couldn’t help but laugh back at the joyful sound. 

L’ulo gave his partner a knowing look. Suralinda tipped up onto her toes and whispered, “You’re getting all this, right?” To which he nodded in confirmation.

Poe sat the floor and leaned against you as he recovered his breath from dashing back and forth. You giggled, wrapping an arm around him wordlessly. Then pressed a spontaneous kiss to his cheek, just over the faint pink scar. Pushing against his side, your gaze softened. “Poe... it’s been a long time since you laughed like this. I missed it.” 

It was true. Somewhere between the motorcycle accident and the move to Qatar, Poe lost a grip on humor. He still made jokes and silly expressions but he hadn’t laughed so hard his cheeks turned pink since... the trip to Valdosta to see Aunt Leia, maybe. But it felt right to laugh together, and to play with a baby together. Drifting closer to your lips, Poe lowered his eyes. “Too long. Feels good.” 

”Mmm-hmm.”

 A sudden cough announced the presence of the morning nurse, and you nearly fell back into Poe’s arms from the startle. Whatever strange romance was found on the cold floor in front of a sick child’s makeshift hospital room vanished. You turned back to the boy, who was now clutching a red Matchbox truck and making engine noises. “Sorry! We were just seeing how he’s doing. This is my husband.”

 ”I’m Fatima,” she mustered with annoyance, squinting at the temporary pass sticker on his shirt. “You have to head out; I have vitals and blood work to take.”

“Nice to meet you. Poe Dameron.” Anyone else would’ve sensed the slight judgment in her stance and tone and backed off, but he pulled out that easy smile once more and lifted the paper airplane up. “Hey, could you do us a solid? Could you give Baaligh this?  Since he doesn’t really have any toys.”

Begrudgingly, Fatima agreed to ask the doctor about it- seeing as how his immune system could be deeply compromised. Poe thanked her before returning his attention to the boy as Fatima set the paper on the counter of the nurse’s station before entering the decontamination room where the biohazard suits were kept. Suralinda slinked closer, L’ulo a few steps behind but still filming. 

 ”I’m gonna come back and see you soon, okay?” you promised through the divider, which Baaligh smeared another dirty handprint across. 

Poe held the boy’s eye contact for a few moments before he donned a regretful smile and rose to his feet. It felt wrong to leave him. He helped you up with a steadying arm and captured you for a short but tender kiss. “I think I’ve caused enough trouble for now. See you at home.”  

Winding back through the corridors, Poe tilted his head to the security guard posted at the front door and stepped into the arid heat of the Qatar afternoon. You were proud of the work being done here. Poe could see it on your face, before you noticed he was there. Still, the faces of the attack victims followed his thoughts, so painfully innocent, as he sat on a bus bench in front of the main hospital. Hila’s infectious smile despite her failing health. Baaligh. Precious, tiny Baaligh and his laughter. That sound rivaled the growl of his old Ducati shifting into 4th gear or the barely-audible moan you made when taking the first sip of a peppermint mocha. Poe wanted to hear it again, for the boy to be happy in the face of all the hate and brutality in this world. 

Pulling out a folded pack of Marlboros he’d hidden in his boot, he brought one to his mouth out of habit- it’s what he usually did when he felt helpless- but stopped before lighting it. No. Something inside him had crystallized this afternoon. With a sigh, the pilot crumpled the pack and tossed it into the trash can beside the bench. 

He shouldn’t be self-destructive anymore. Not when he had so much to fight for. To live for.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song featured is “Turn Blue” by The Black Keys


	14. Cinnamon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boundaries between the past and the present are blurred; Luke has some bad news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depiction of post-miscarriage grief
> 
> Chapter Soundtrack: 
> 
> April Skies by The Jesus and Mary Chain: https://open.spotify.com/track/7hs0Q5T9oyYMuGg4EQZenj?si=e6lIV7f_Q42_wd7jVJr72w

Ripping open a foil package of chewing gum, Poe perched on the edge of the bed. His heel bounced rapidly against the rug, palms sweating, as he tried to focus on the sharp cinnamon taste. Part of him already regret throwing away the packs of cigarettes stashed around the house, but he was quitting for good this time. Probably.

Sleepy hands searched for your husband’s sturdy warmth in the inky darkness. They wrapped around his shoulders from behind, the fabric of your night shirt gliding against his back. 

“I’m still here, mi Amor.” He _was_ there. With you. He wasn’t really back in that memory, though his brain and body tried to force him to revisit it. “Go back to sleep. You have work in the morning.”

”Not ‘til you hold me,” you protested groggily. 

Poe swiped the moisture off his palms by rubbing them across his bare thighs and climbed back under the duvet. When you leaned over to give him a kiss, you lurch backward, eyes springing open. “Whoa! Is that... were you eating Red Hots?”

Letting out a soft laugh, he realized the gum still in his mouth was a completely unexpected surprise that jolted you awake with its heat. “No, no. It’s just gum. I’m tryin—“

”You’re quitting? Good. Don’t think I haven’t noticed... you’re not nearly as sneaky as you think.”

Dammit. Nothing got past you. Poe huffed in mild defeat.

”Why did you want one now? Another nightmare?”

Right again. You were 2/2 already and had only been conscious for a few seconds. Sensory experiences were supposed to help with grounding. It wasn’t unusual to catch Poe rapping his fingers against a countertop or gnawing on the inside of his cheek when his body sought to relive a terrifying moment. Poe shifted against the mattress and hauled you closer. Silence spoke for him.

*

_”Can I see?”_

_You pulled the shirt up gingerly, revealing only a small sliver of skin on your abdomen between it and the blanket. The short track of stitches looked simple, more so than he imagined. It was about an inch from the raised birthmark that he always joked was his favorite part of your body. The spot he blew raspberries against as your legs pumped wildly and you shrieked in laughter. Now that area would have an entirely different association._

_You mustered a flimsy smile. “It’s healing okay, but they didn’t give me much pain medication.”_

_Instinctively, he rested his hand over your own. If only there was a way to undo it all. “I’ll call Dr. Patel and ask for them to give you more. Hang tight.”_

_”No-“you winced as you tried to sit up straight “- Just stay. Stay with me now. I’m alright.”_

_He didn’t buy that. Poe wasn’t alright. In fact, he was far from alright, considering his obligation to return to Undergraduate Pilot Training the next morning. Tears began to flow, breath jagged as they released a fraction of the turmoil inside, like a reservoir spill-off. The sight of the salty trail down your cheek made Poe plummet right back into grief. It was strange to lose someone he didn’t even know existed until it was too late. Mouth crumpling, he searched your eyes for what he could possibly say._

_What could he say?_

_The creation of one life almost cost two. There was no fault to distribute; sometimes these things just happened. Still, Poe wanted to beg for forgiveness, make it right. But he couldn’t find the strength to speak. Instead, he rested a hand over your wound and sang._

Moon River, wider than a mile  
I’m crossing you in style someday.   
Oh dream maker, you heart breaker  
Where ever you’re going, I’m going your way

 _Dulcet voice soft in your ear, you close your eyes. Poe pictured how developed a pregnancy must’ve been at two months. Would the baby have had your smile? Poe’s ears? He’d never know._  

*  

This time the dream wasn’t quite a flashback. It was jumbled, nonlinear. He recalled the texture of the hospital blanket, the ground nearly giving out under him when the doctor mentioned the pregnancy as if he already knew. Guilt of being forced back to training while you stayed behind to heal. Learning later that it was a girl. But everything was chaotic and scrambled, voices distorted. Timeline unnerving and inaccurate. 

Poe lifted the hem of your camisole to contact warm skin, fingers hovering reverently over the puckered seam. Time had faded the scar and blunted some of the emotional pain that accompanied it, so you didn’t flinch away anymore. You let him touch this spot, almost sacred.

His thoughts returned to Baaligh- the boy who drew his grief back to the surface. It was always there but steadily slipped out of focus over the past two years. Baaligh’s sparkling eyes brought it right back. Hair so fine, fingers impossibly small. You’d all lost so much.  

“Poe? You can tell me... Please.” A frigid toe brushed against his calf. Somehow your feet were always like mini glaciers, even in the warmer climate. “I don’t wanna hold anything back from each other anymore.”

How he wanted to release it all, inner thoughts spilling freely. Confide in you the classified details of Sandstorm. How he took a life and harbored grave doubts about the war. Admit to you and himself that he still wanted—

But no. Not this. Trying to become parents nearly broke your marriage. It was the catalyst that sent you across the Pacific, fleeing from him. And he couldn’t lose you again. Poe promised he wouldn’t be pushy about it and he meant that. 

“I dreamed about her,” he whispered, like it was a secret between you. Her. She had no name. Or maybe she had every name. Poe wondered what you would’ve called her, had things gone differently. “It still hurts.”

Sighing, you slung a leg over his torso. “I think about her every day.” A lazy finger drew a line along his sternum up to his necklace. “It’s not your fault. Absolutely none of that was your fault. You try to shoulder the weight of the world and it’s just not healthy. There was nothing anyone could’ve done.”

”How can you miss someone so much, that you never really met? Soon as I think I’m finally at peace with it, it starts hurting again,” he muttered.  

“I bet she would’ve had your mouth.” 

“You mean my lips?” He was desperate to interject some humor into the conversation. “Or that I’d teach her to be a smartass?”

“I’m sure it would rub off.”

“Better than having my nose. But I know she’d be beautiful, because of you.”

“Poe?” The pause was deep, dissolving the levity of the previous moment. “I’m so sorry about the way everything happened... the Plan B. I got so scared but you were finally happy again and I panicked. I was scared of another complication… scared that I’d lose my entire identity if we had a baby and—“

”I’ve forgiven you. I’d never want you to feel trapped.”

”I don’t anymore- but it was never you who made me feel that. It was just... the inertia of living in Okinawa with no job, no focus. The fear of becoming my mom. It was never you, but I hurt you because of it. We almost lost each other. And I’m so sorry.”

In response, Poe brought your left hand to his mouth, pressing over the knuckles of your ring finger with a soft smack.

“Why do you still love me?” you prodded. “After all we’ve been through?” 

In life, much is unclear. The ethics of war. Quantum physics. But this was an easy one. “How could I ever stop? You’re the smartest. The funniest. The kindest... The most stunning, inside and out. You’re my everything.”

Regret seemed to soak through your vocal chords as they threatened to crack around the P- sound at the beginning of his name. 

“And you? Why do you love me?”

“Can I give the same answer as you?”

His chest vibrated with a playful snort. “No! That’s cheating. Get your own answers and stop copying off my paper.” Poe captured a kiss, the cinnamon flavor of his gum lingering. He plucked the soft mass from his teeth and wrapped the foil around it, leaving it on the bedside table before rolling on top of you.

“But it’s true. You’re thoughtful-“ you pecked him on the tip of his nose “-hilarious. Well, you also make terrible puns but you can be hilarious. And your mind...”

”My mind? Oh God, here it comes...” Poe laughed, bracing himself for complete decimation. 

“I don’t know where you got the idea that you’re not intelligent, ‘cause you are.” A finger was busy coiling and uncoiling one of the longer curls along his scalp. “When you fly, you’re doing mental calculus using parameters that are constantly changing, while executing maneuvers. Sometimes while fighting. It’s amazing.”

“Here I thought you were into my swagger. Turns out, you’re just a math fan girl.” 

”What can I say? I’m a slut for calculus.”

”Hey! That’s my wife you’re talking about,” Poe snarked, tucking his face into the crook of your neck. He squeezed your thighs as they tightened around him and a giggle burst from your mouth. “But tell me what else turns you on.”

”I may have a thing for Southern boys. Especially if they call me Spanish pet names and play guitar.”

”Really? I have a bit of a thing for scientists who have cute asses and throw pottery. Go figure.” 

Poe’s grin was so wide, his teeth practically became luminaries. Gratitude washed over him, and he noted how truly fortunate you both were, despite your shared trauma. To be alive, together. That in the midst of a war, you could be nestled under his body, laughing and flirting. Life wasn’t perfect, but you had each other.

He sighed, framing your face with a wide hand. “I’m so in love with you. I’m also in lust with you. But right now I’m trying to talk about the love.”

Snickers broke through the darkness as Poe showered your neck with kisses. Pecks became soft became open-mouthed and ultimately wet. Strokes became adoring caresses. Clipped breath became panting that became moans. Moans became synonyms for love in a language at once universal and deeply private. Moans faded into contented silence, interrupted only by the occasional snore emanating from Poe’s side of the bed. He was spared from another nightmare.

 

 ——

 

Over the next week, Poe had returned to the hospital twice- one more lunch and another time at the end of your shift. He brought a backpack of random toys he’d found at a shop on-base, which Fatima distributed after they’d been thoroughly disinfected. A My Little Pony figure for Hila, the blue Pegasus she pointed at in her coloring book. A small menagerie of plastic animals for the other three children. 

“Got something special for you, Bay.” Poe offered a proper toy airplane for Baaligh, smooth plastic with landing gear that flipped up and down. The Nepali boy’s eyes danced with joy. Again, his arms extended up, fingers splayed wide and wiggling. Exchanging a charmed but confused look, you and Poe sat in front of him.

Once the toy was cleaned to Fatima’s exacting standards, it was given to Baaligh. He immediately threw it in across the room, to Poe’s delight, landing with a loud crash. You both stiffened, expecting to get chastised but even Fatima laughed, covering her mouth somewhat shyly. Then Bay ran after it, throwing it to the other side. Crash. Welp, the landing gear probably just broke. Again, he hurled the toy jet then careened across the floor on wobbly legs. For his finale, he flailed on the floor and threw his arms and legs in the air. 

Hand wrapped around Poe’s arm, your whispered voice contained a medley of wonder, affection and amusement. “He’s doing exactly what you did with the paper plane.”

”It’s a lot cuter when he does it,” Poe managed to agree, eyes still fixed adoringly on the little boy mimicking him.

The visits had raised some eyebrows across the department. Luke had allowed it because Poe kept them short and sweet, bringing small gifts and smiles to patients who desperately needed the bump in morale. Part of it was also that you were one of the most dedicated members of the research team, and he’d developed a bit of a soft spot. But not everyone was convinced it was a good idea to let an outsider into such a sensitive area, even one who was married to a researcher.  

So it wasn’t a shock to step off the bus and find Suralinda in front of the WHO wing with two coffees from the cafeteria. Her stance wasn’t suspicious, per se, but she was definitely seeking something. She and L’ulo had been lurking around with that camera every time Poe had visited. “Morning. Took the liberty of getting you a cup.”

The watercolor sunrise seemed to hold a promise, something powerful in the atmosphere. Clinical trials for the gene therapy were scheduled to begin. Optimism resonated throughout the facility, cautious yet undeniable in the faces of Dr. Mon Mothma’s team as they prepared. Anticipation had kept you awake much of the night and you were thankful for the caffeine. Accepting the cup, you smiled at the guard and scanned your access badges. “Linda, my hero... God, I’m excited about today. I mean, I don’t expect to see any results soon but something is finally happening.”

Pulling a cluster a gold-accented box braids away from her face, Suralinda’s eyes darted in brief hesitation. Footsteps echoed across the shiny surfaces of the lobby. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

It was still early for any question that wasn’t ‘do you take cream and sugar’, but you shrugged anyway. 

“I know you’ve been visiting Baaligh a lot. I can tell it’s been emotional.” Suralinda’s kind amber eyes invited you to shed your armor, just a bit. “The way you and your husband were playing with him. Did you...”

Was it that obvious? Sucking in a deep breath, you made a conscious effort to relax your shoulders. “I had an ectopic pregnancy, when I was working on my thesis about two years ago. Poe was stationed halfway across the country. We didn’t even know I’d conceived until I was hemorrhaging.”

”I’m so sorry. I only ask because my sister had a stillbirth and you looked at that boy the same way she looks at little kids.”

”Oh… I can only imagine.” Downcast eyes studied the tiles on the floor. Someone else could recognize your loss, even when you were smiling- you weren’t sure if that was a comfort or not. Suralinda was trying to be comforting, though.  “After the surgery, Poe and I focused on other parts of life as much as possible, but when he came home from Yemen, he really wanted to try again for a baby. I thought I was ready but I just wasn’t yet... and I hurt him pretty bad.”

”When you look at this boy, you think of the baby you couldn’t have?”

”Kind of. I mean, Baaligh is his own person. But I get a sense of what we could’ve had... our little girl would’ve been around that age. I guess I think of saving her when I think of saving him, in some strange way.”

Suralinda’s bottom lip lifted up as she thought for a moment. She sipped her drink and began walking toward the epidemiology wing. “If I can be frank here... you can’t get so attached. I know you care- that’s exactly why Luke hired you. But there’s a boundary you’re getting dangerously close to crossing.”

It wasn’t quite defensive, but it was blunt. “We have different roles here. You’re a professional observer. I’m in the thick of it, Poe’s in the thick of it. And these kids arguably have it worst. They deserve the attention of someone who isn’t poking at them with needles.”

”I’m not disagreeing- I come here every day to tell your story, to tell these kids’ stories. But we all need to stay professional.”

She had a point. 

Splitting off down separate corridors, you thanked her again for the coffee and the advice, knowing she truly meant well. A few researchers were tweaking a backup vector for the gene therapy trial, lumbering awkwardly in hazmat suits in the clean room. Waving in passing, you continued to the end of the hall until the familiar scent of disinfectant wafted toward you. Large stickers were placed on the glass walls of each room, indicating patient status.

Fatima and Luke stood at the end of the hall, quietly looking over a patient’s chart. 

“Mrs. Dameron... you’re not gonna like this.” Fatima adjusted the edge of her lavender-colored hijab and you noticed it matched the wildflower pattern on her scrubs. She might be a little gruff with you, but she was a good nurse, making an effort to look non-threatening for the kids when she wasn’t wearing the biohazard suit. 

Blinking in confusion, you stopped. “Is everyone alright?”

”Yeah, they’re all accounted for.” The hope which had imbued Luke’s face with an internal light was suppressed- and your own smile evaporated.

”So, what’s the problem? Dr. Skywalker?”

”The youngest boy, Baaligh. He’s a ward of the state and as such, he can’t participate in the trial. He doesn’t have a guardian to approve it.”

”What?!” You shouted. “No, no. This is his best chance for survival! Hila has only been fighting this for three months and her renal failure is almost critical. He won’t make it without something else—“

”There are rules about this kind of thing, so these kids don’t get used as guinea pigs. They won’t consent to clinical trials.”

Panic clenched your chest, eyes wide as you tried to process the information. This toddler was going to die, all because he didn’t have a proper guardian. And a promising treatment was right there. It was enough to make you sick. Maybe you were sick already; the room seemed to be whirling. You took a few steps toward the boy’s room. Baaligh’s chestnut hair was wild, and he wore hospital gown and oversized pajama pants as he napped peacefully. Tucked under his arm was the silver plane that Poe had brought. 

You wanted to shriek, to scream so loudly it shattered every glass surface in the wing, in the building, in the greater hospital itself. Free him from an indefinite isolation. No one even knew for certain how long the incubation or communicable period was for the pathogen. Hell, there wasn’t even proof that the illness itself _was_ communicable, person to person, after the initial contact. This was all uncharted territory.

“I’m talking to patient advocacy, that’s it.” Folding your arms at the decision, you shoot Luke an icy glare even though he didn’t have any say in the exclusion. “Luke- I mean Dr. Skywalker- please. There has to be something we can do!”

Luke and Fatima exchanged a disheartened glance and then the nurse excused herself to meet with Dr. Mothma. 

“Look,” Luke’s voice lowered as he stepped forward. Tone softening, he tapped a metal finger against the clipboard with a series of clicks. “I get where you’re coming from. But this is murky, ethically. We’re literally talking about experimenting on an orphan. If something were to go wrong—“

”With all due respect, it’s wrong to withhold a potential cure from a toddler who doesn’t have a voice to ask for it. We know exactly what’ll happen if he has to wait too long for a kidney... How can they condemn him to that?”

Ripping your gaze from Luke’s apologetic eyes, you turned back to Baaligh, still sleeping in a hospital bed that dwarfed his tiny frame. Luke meant well. Suralinda meant well. Good intentions weren’t going to heal renal failure- but maybe the gene therapy could.  

”About that.” Luke swallowed hard, as if they words themselves were shards of glass. “He’s... patients are given a place on the transplant list according to a few factors—“

”No.” 

“I don’t make the rules, I don’t even work for the hospital itself— I’m not a medical doctor, I’m an epidemiologist—“

”No. This is... this...” The room was definitely spinning now. “It’s unconscionable“. 

“It is. But there are only so many donors and patients with a stable home life have greater chances of survival.”

”Bay has no chance of survival if he doesn’t get any goddamn treatment!”

You froze, realizing a millisecond after completing the sentence that you had not only cursed at your boss, but you had an audience of other researchers while doing so. And you’d just called one of the patients by a nickname. So much for Suralinda imploring you to stay professional. Dr. Skywalker willed a deep breath into his lungs as half the people in the department stared. Their penetrating gaze made you feel exposed, even through your white lab coat.

Fatima let out a conspicuous cough, making a shooing gesture with her hands at your rubbernecking coworkers. She put on her most diplomatic voice, “Baaligh’s still getting IV Riboflavin just like all the other patients.”

“In the meantime,” Dr. Skywalker interjected, “I think you should take the rest of the day off, Mrs. Dameron. Come back tomorrow with a clear head to work on that backup vector.”

 

——

 

B.B. practically launched himself into Poe’s legs when the pilot arrived home after a short mission in Saudi Arabia. He’d been gone four days, training pilots in the Royal Air Force of the ally. After lavishing attention on the pup in the form of belly scratches and Milkbones, he poked around the last of the moving boxes that finally arrived from Kadena, unpacking carefully. 

A handful of screws were clenched between his lips as he steadied himself on a dining chair, setting up a macramé plant hanger from the ceiling. The doorknob jiggled and something metal scraped against. Poe’s adrenaline surged, like when he’d ride the Ducati twenty miles above the speed limit and a state trooper caught his peripheral vision. He hopped down quietly, breath held with his ear pressed against the door.

Another scrape and a thud against the wood, and Poe spit the screws out onto the floor. Swiftly, he crossed the room for his pistol. 

Yes, you lived on-base, but anything was possible. Poe sizzled with a vigilance that simply wouldn’t allow him to ignore the darker possibilities. The memory of what happened in the hangar at Al Anad was too recent.

Safety off, he shifted his weight carefully and tried to get a visual of the person on the other side of his front door. The window wasn’t at the right distance and he mentally cursed. A faint metallic sound came through, followed by a series of dull thuds against the door- not quite knocking. Then a muffled groan.

Instinctively, his voice lowered nearly an octave as he barked, “Who’s there?”

Now, he heard a distinct sniffle. He toggled the safety back on and tucked the Berretta into his waistband holster before opening the door. “Corazón? What are—“

Just like B.B. had hours earlier, you launched yourself into your husband’s arms. Poe stood confounded, his heart still setting a manic pace. Your keys were on the ground in front of the door; that must’ve been the metallic sound he heard. He deduced the thumping was your head banging against the door in frustration because your key often stuck in the new lock. “You uh, you startled me a little. Whatcha doing home so early?”

“Luke gave me the day off,” you replied in an exhausted monotone, face pressed against Poe’s shoulder. He seized both your hands, hoping they wouldn’t drift down and find the gun wedged against the waistband of his blue jeans.

“Today? Isn’t it trial day?” Poe stepped back and brushed a hand against your arm.

Lukewarm smile and smeared mascara on your face, you finally looked up. “Yeah. But it’s fine...”

Fine. You’d been a couple long enough for Poe to know that “fine” definitely didn’t mean fine. 

“What’s up? I thought this was what you’ve been working toward.”

”There’s a complication with one of the patients... I don’t wanna talk about it yet.” Your voice contained the heavy somberness of a funeral dirge.

Poe swallowed; he didn’t like being on the receiving end of this dynamic but knew not to push it. There was a balance between pushing back against the darkness and welcoming the light. He couldn’t force the light to come. “Ummm, alright. Maybe just get changed and we can eat something. There’s supposed to be a meteor shower tonight, if you’re up for it.”

The afternoon was passed with you at the table, forearms-deep in a mound of wet clay on the wheel. Forehead creased in concentration, you tried to release the tension of the day. Soft clay, hard questions. The form would start to take shape as you carved out the mouth of the vessel, then your thoughts would return to Baaligh and the clay would collapse again. Eventually you gave up, deciding to do a Kinsugi project instead. Dropping an older creation a little too gleefully on the floor before collecting the fragments, you laid them out carefully like a surgeon’s tray of instruments. In silence, you let yourself be absorbed into the detail, gluing pieces together in thin metallic ribbons.

Poe joined you for a while, propping his head up with his hands as he watched you work. The metaphor of repairing a broken thing wasn’t lost on him. No wonder it meant so much to you. Eventually, he busied himself with hanging the plants and a few pieces of art, then went for a run. As his feet followed the pavement, Poe reminded himself that you’d tell him soon. Patience had never been his strong suit. 

When the base was enveloped in a shroud of night, Poe tucked a rolled-up throw under his arm and fit B.B. into his little apricot-colored harness. He perused the collection of heavy binoculars on the shelf, deciding to use Kes’s Special Ops-issued one. You found a spot in a quiet part of Al Udeid, behind the school and settled in. B.B. explored the grass then curled up next to Poe, who lay on his back with his knees drawn up; soles of his shoes flush with the ground.

Tucking yourself against him, you stared up at the sky. A full moon, a meteor shower. Poe breathed in the scent of your hair as you held the clunky metal binoculars to your face. After a few seconds, you rested them on his chest. “Do you believe bad things happen on full moons?”

Poe hadn’t given consideration to that superstition before. “Not really... I was born on a full moon, though. Aunt Leia always says I’m such a Scorpio. With a Taurus moon, whatever that means.”

”What does she say?”

”Well, we’re supposed to be passionate.” Poe watched you predictably huff out a laugh. The terrier got up, circled the spot, and lay back down. “Protective.”

Protective was an understatement, given everything Poe had been through. Life and love were fragile gifts that needed to be guarded. 

”Sounds about right. Leia knows her stuff... What else?”

”Last time we were in Valdosta—“ His eyes flicked down, recalling the joy he felt when he announced you were trying to conceive and the pain of the loss of his physical stability. “— she said I better not let my stubborn side win. That I was more prone it to it, being born on a full moon. ...I’m still not sure if I let her down on that.”

 _Or let you down_ , he thought privately. A streak of light zipped across the sky and you let out a soft gasp. Poe smiled fondly and handed the binoculars back to you for a clearer view. 

“Do you think things are set in stone? Personality, Destiny? That some things are bound to happen no matter what you do?” There was some frustration in your tone, though Poe couldn’t exactly pinpoint its context. 

”I like to think I cherish free will too much for that... but there’s something downright romantic about the idea of fate. Things happen for a reason, ya know?”

Lowering the binoculars again, you remembered what Poe had said: he didn’t want you to shoulder any burden alone. 

“Bay is gonna die,” you said simply. “Because he doesn’t have parents or any known family. He’s excluded from the study and from the transplant list.”

Poe snapped upright, tucking his feet under himself on the blanket. “What?!”

”I yelled at Luke when I found out... he sent me home. But first I went on a rampage with patient advocacy and called social services like ten times to try and find someone who speaks English.”

“He’s an orphan?” Poe asked, running a hand through his coal-black waves. “You...  neglected to mention that.”

Of course he knew why. He couldn’t treat an orphaned Nepali child in Qatar like a stray puppy- especially if said child was exposed to a deadly contaminant. This wasn’t like adopting B.B. on a whim when he came across a booth for a Jack Russell Terrier rescue group, back in Tampa. He went to a street festival for the food trucks and accidentally came home with a dog. 

However, it begged the question: how easy would it be to take Bay home? Sure, there was a language barrier but kids were excellent at picking up new ones and you had a knack for it. It’d be easy to outfit the spare room with a race car bed and some glow in the dark stars on the ceiling. But life was far more complicated than that, and always erected barriers. International adoption law, for one. Then the pesky “indefinite quarantine” business and the pathogen ravaging his small body. 

“It’s horrible. Suralinda told me his parents died protecting him... they were in a cafe near the school, and the blast caused the roof to cave in. He was found in the rubble,” your voice wavered like you were traversing a tightrope, “their bodies shielded him when it came down.”

In the moonlight, Poe’s face paled with devastation. “And Hila?”

”Her family calls every day just after prayer. They’re finally able to afford to travel from Yemen, and are staying here in Doha for a while.” 

“That’s good to hear.” Some relief showed in his expression, but not much. “I know you’re not gonna give up on Baaligh. And I’ll help you fight for him. Just say the word.”

”Will you talk to social services tomorrow, at the hospital? There’s so much red tape to wade through to even get the contact information for who I need to speak to. I did it for almost three hours today.”

”Of course. It’s my day off, so yeah. We can go together.”

Poe thought about coincidences. Fate. Destiny. His faith had grown since Cassian’s death, though he hadn’t nurtured it in the form of actually going to Mass. Maybe this was a call to action, since neither of you could deny the parallel of Baaligh and the baby girl you never met. Maybe he could have a family again- parents who were already in his life and who cared for him. Maybe a miracle was possible. 

He sat back and stared up at the expanse of stars burning above, chewing on his cheek. How could Poe possibly communicate what he felt, after the way he’d nearly lost you? 

 

 —— 


	15. Like The Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new threat hanging over Al Udeid pulls Poe’s attention away; While fighting for Baaligh’s future, you confront a fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like The Moon by Future Islands: https://open.spotify.com/track/2ZJBl3HBmjRxDJOkNIGSBR?si=ayZTAxq_SAero3BPfZAHqA

The Dameron-Bey family loved quotes. Shara highlighted inspirational sayings in her day planner and Kes was known to pepper conversations with references to iconic movies. Uncle Han, however, didn’t quote others much but he was quite quotable himself- and not in the sage manner of Leia. He always had plenty to say but it was rarely eloquent. Much like Poe, he was a sarcastic lover of quips and puns that didn’t always get the reception he was sure they deserved. 

Poe thought about their love of language as he reclined on the throw blanket in the grass, eyes fixed on the indigo sky. Your chest rose and fell steadily, body perpendicular to his, with your head against his stomach. B.B. stay curled in a tight ball against his hip. It hadn’t been a spectacular meteor shower. Only a handful of streaks dashed across the vast expanse of darkness- even with the binoculars, the light pollution of Doha prevented most of the display from being properly enjoyed. Usually, Poe would’ve been disappointed, but after the revelation about Baaligh, his mind was elsewhere. 

He should’ve been thinking about what his mother had told him, about finding light in the darkness. Focusing. It was wise, appropriate. But instead, a quote from Uncle Han rang in Poe’s ears: Sometimes when you want something bad enough, life gives you a second chance.

Poe already had his share of second chances. He was a pilot again. You were by his side again. And although it almost felt greedy to ask for more, he was unable to extricate himself from the want of more. Stroking your hair, he thought about someday holding his father’s binoculars to his son’s face, identifying constellations and pointing out lunar landscape features. About a tiny body clad in cartoon-print pajamas wriggling into bed between you as you slept. About squeezing his son’s hand on the first day of school, reminding him that grandma Shara was a guardian looking after him, so there’s no need to fear. Poe wanted a family. Baaligh needed a family.

But how many second chances can one person get? How many times could the stars possibly align in his favor? 

The next morning, Poe dressed in civvies: scuffed boots and a red v-neck. Something was ominous, like the threat of far-away thunder, but he couldn’t quite locate it. He fit his holster under the waistband of his battered blue jeans and tucked the weapon in.

Concern laced your features as you sat across from him, watching his leg bob up and down like a piston under the kitchen table. Poe dunked the edge of his toast into his mug of cafe con leche and eyed the plate of scrambled eggs warily, uncharacteristically quiet as he gave them a liberal coating of Cholula. When he caught your gaze, his demeanor broke and Poe mustered a debonair smile, complimenting the fluffiness of the eggs. Anxiety was viral and you didn’t need to catch any more. After breakfast, Poe also made sure to take a peek into your purse when you were brushing your teeth, ensuring that the handgun was still inside. And it was, like a river stone weighing down every trip into the city.

Together, you caught the bus into the heart of Doha, the cramped space buzzing with the murmurs of your fellow commuters. Small actions revealed Poe’s protective nature. He made sure you sat by the window and he by the aisle. Chestnut eyes continuously scanned the faces of the other passengers boarding the bus to assess possible threats. A whiff of agarwood came off someone squeezing down the center aisle, probably lingering from incense they burned at home. Every time he rode the bus, at least one person smelled like the sweet resin.

Meanwhile, you slumped in your seat, frustrated that the only time Patient Advocacy was scheduled coincided with your project for developing a backup vector. There was a surface tension, your fingers wound tightly around the strap of your purse as the bus rumbled toward the hospital.

“Hey.” Poe’s assured voice pulled you from a furled-brow stare at the street. “We’ll convince them to approve Bay for the trials. It’s gonna be okay.”

“This is a bureaucratic nightmare. Yesterday they just kept bouncing my call from department to department. These systems are so awful, I’m scared that by the time...”

”Don’t think so negatively.” He couldn’t allow either of you to go there; the thought was just too hideous. The bus rocked as it turned a corner and you swayed toward him. Pecking your temple, Poe slung an arm around you. It was met with a soft sigh as you rested against his shoulder. In his reflex, Poe had almost forgotten Qatar’s culture around public displays of affection. He communicated in touch, a part of him just like animated talking with his hands, an impossible habit to break. Straightening up, he slipped your hand in his instead and took a cursory glance around the bus for any disapproving locals.

Locking eyes with an older man, Poe’s stomach pinched inward on itself with a burst of adrenaline. The pistol pushed against his lumbar a little when he sat up in the seat and Poe was uncomfortably aware of it. Aware of its power. Of its consequences.

He wanted to be defiant, to kiss you whenever he wanted, but this wasn’t the time or place for that. Thankfully, the man soon excavated a book from his bag and buried his nose between the pages. Poe tried to recover a more casual posture, though his gut still churned. 

“It’ll take a miracle to convince them to even hear us out- Much less actually consent to treat him.”

“There’s a reason my call sign is Milagro.” A smirk stretched across Poe’s mouth as he interlaced your fingers. Playfully rolling your eyes, you turned back toward the window.

“Well, at least one of us is optimistic.”

”Always,” Poe answered smoothly. He dealt with his share of doubt, but the appearance of confidence was always something Poe inflated when things got tough. Kes taught him that when someone else is scared, you put your own fear aside. “We’re talking about a sick toddler here. No one wants him to stay sick; it’s just rules getting in the way. All we have to do is get a hold of the person who can sign off on it. They’re gonna do the right thing, they have to.”

Finally, the bus arrived at the stop for the hospital. Heels clicking along the sidewalk, you trotted toward the WHO wing while Poe breathed in the Doha morning like a hound dog sniffing the air for a scent trail. By this point, the security in front of the building recognized Poe. The guard waved you both through easily after printing out a temporary access sticker, which Poe placed on his shirt. He clasped your hand and strode through the lobby, down the long maze of hallways that led to the quarantine section.

Stuffing a wad of gum into his mouth, Poe’s grip on your hand tightened the closer you got to the glass partitions. Stickers with patient information still adorned all the glass walls.  He peered into the rooms, not unlike a row of Beta fish bowls with their lack of privacy. Wadded-up bed sheets, food wrappers on trays. Various toys scattered alongside monitoring equipment. Most rooms had a drawing made with the colored pencils proudly taped to the wall. 

One of the rooms was now pristine, empty. At first you thought it had been cleaned while the patient was being treated. Or better yet, the indefinite quarantine period had finally been lifted. But your hopes were dashed when the disheartened look on Fatima’s face confirmed that something had happened overnight. Death had visited. Fingers clenching around Poe’s hand, you stopped in front of the nurse’s station. 

“My buddy!” Poe exclaimed as he broke your grip and rushed to the glass. The boy raced toward the wall so fast, it looked like he was going to charge directly through it and into your husband’s embrace. Poe flattened both palms against the cool surface, the best substitute he could manage given the circumstances. “Whatcha got there?”

Seeming to understand Poe’s question, Baaligh proudly held the battered plastic airplane up for inspection. 

“So happy you like it. I like planes too.” Poe’s throat bobbed as he swallowed his emotions down. His own obsession for aviation was fostered by Kes and Shara, who practically turned his room into a hangar with every toy aircraft they could find. He turned to say something to you but found only empty space. Posture sagging, you leaned against the nurse’s station. The peach pit in his throat swelled up once more at your reluctance. He knew this situation revived some complicated wounds from your own family, but you couldn’t keep thwarting your own chance of happiness just to protect yourself from the possibility pain.

Life always came with that possibility.

”Corazón...” he softly called. Cracking your knuckles, you were unwilling to come closer. The way your head tilted up suggested there were tears that you didn’t want to fall- but the physical distance you kept wouldn’t do anything to diminish the attachment you felt. “I’m sure he misses you. Come here.”

Nodding in quiet contemplation, your eyes flit to Fatima and back to Baaligh. Fifteen more minutes before you had to clock in, then Poe would make his way to the offices and hopefully use his charm to procure the information of someone high-ranking enough to make a difference in Baaligh’s case. All but dragging your feet, you willed yourself over and knelt down. It was hard to look into his innocent, round eyes.

“Hey there, Bay.” He babbled in response and your face contorted, lip quivering as you tried to smile for him. You wanted to smile. “We’re gonna get help for you, I promise. We’re gonna get you out of here and healthy again—“

As your voice crumpled in on itself, Poe rested a hand on your back. 

Both of Baaligh’s arms shot up as he wiggled his fingers wildly, the same thing he’d done before. Baaligh beat his own chest and did it again with a squeal. Mystified, you breathed out a gentle laugh. The boy toddled to the divider closer to Poe, fingers curling and uncurling as he held his arms overhead. Individual fingers wiggled like sun rays as he beamed. Finally, it hit him: the perplexing motion Bay made whenever he saw you was the sun. Poe grabbed your scarf from around the lapel of your white lab coat. Canary yellow, once Lando’s but now your own. 

“He’s saying he likes your scarf. It reminds him of the sun. See?”

Mouth agape, you stared at Poe, then Baaligh, then back to Poe. “I think you’re right. Wow... you’re so in tune with him.”

”I’m just listening,” he shrugged. Kids weren’t that complicated. “Know what Aunt Leia always said to me when I was growing up?”

”Another wisdom nugget courtesy of Leia? Can’t wait.”

”It’s relevant to our situation today, I promise.” Poe smiled. Baaligh stomped across the floor, looking like a miniature Godzilla attacking an invisible city. “She said hope is like the sun. If you only believe in it when you can see it, you’ll never make it through the night.”

 ——

The team was quieter after the loss of another patient. Four survivors remained. Luke spoke a few somber words at the beginning of the shift, in memory of the child who didn’t make it. The day was spent preparing a backup treatment, in the event that Dr. Mothma’s original formula didn’t work. 

Then, the mood shifted like a sudden tilt against the Earth’s axis. 

Suralinda and L’ulo stood in the hallway, nearly bursting with emotion as they recorded Hila’s family arriving from Yemen. They had been separated from her since the attack, after Hila was airlifted to the quarantine ward following the bombing at her school. 

Shuffling to the glass with swollen feet in fuzzy slippers, Hila managed to let out a shout of happiness as soon as she saw her parents sprinting down the corridor. Finally. Wide bags had settled under the eyes of her father, showing the turmoil of being separated from his sick little girl for months. Her mother was flanked by two brothers, both younger than Hila. Steady streams of tears ran down her cheeks as they pressed against the glass, crying out in Arabic. Relief and guttural sobs echoed through the hallway.

Suralinda turned away, twirling the ends of her braids in distraction from the raw display. L’ulo wiped a single tear from his eye; even the veteran documentarians were moved by the reunion.

Sound travelled easily through the smooth corridor, and you pulled away from your computer. A few steps into the hallway and you found the source. Hila’s mother had the same heart-shaped face and graceful hooked nose as she did; both their bodies were thin from borderline malnutrition. Her voice was strained, pure gratitude flowing from her mouth in the form of Islamic prayer. You could tell that part of her believed she would never see her daughter alive again. 

With a steadying breath, you crossed your arms and watched the reunion. Fatima called you over, and explained in a hushed tone the friendship that you and Poe had built with Hila to her parents. 

“Shukraan lak latfulk ealaa abnatay.” Hila’s father said with misty eyes, as the pair of boys chattered through the glass with their sister. Fatima offered some translation assistance: Thanks for being kind to my daughter. 

Her mother bounded forward with a hug, leaving a wet mark on your shoulder from her tear-streaked face. “Barak Allah fik!” 

Softening into the hug, you thanked her in English and said that Hila was a wonderful girl. You were proud to count her among your new friends in Doha. Again, her mother repeated, “Barak Allah fik,” before pulling away with a watery smile. It was time for her dialysis to begin.

“Fatima, what was she saying?”

”She hopes Allah blesses you with children.”

Letting out an involuntary wince, you clasped her hands and bowed your head slightly. The expression of gratitude cut deeper than Hila’s mother could realize. 

 ——

Scuffed boots paced back and forth across mottled tile just outside the Patient Advocacy office on the 4th floor of Doha General. They had been at this for hours but Poe didn’t want to take a break; they hadn’t made enough progress to earn that. Just as you’d described, the red tape was a thicket of briars, deliberately impossible to navigate. Poe had come into this with a great deal confidence- because of course they’d bend the rules for a toddler- and now faced the convoluted maze of thorns with only the aid of a phone translation service. Dealing with bureaucratic nonsense was bad enough stateside, but this was worth it. 

It didn’t make the process any less maddening, though. 

Poe rarely wore that red shirt because of the scratchy tag. It was bothering him again, and he reached a hand back to swat at it. Stress made him want to smoke and this was pretty stressful, especially considering it was supposed to be a relaxing day off work. 

“Poe?” L’ulo L’ampar appeared in the hall with Suralinda, camera in one hand. Harsh fluorescent light bounced off his bald, domed head. “What are you doing?” 

“I’ve been talking to Patient Advocacy all morning, but it’s through a translator on the phone and it’s a nightmare. I wish I spoke Arabic- this would be so much easier.”

”This is about the little one they won’t let in the clinical trials?”

Poe gave a quick summary of his intentions, lobbing a wad of gum around his mouth as he gestured animatedly. “Luke’s trying to pull some strings using his higher WHO connections, but it feels like I’m hitting a dead end. I’m about to rip my hair out.”

Suralinda’s brows snapped up and together, sending her forehead into ripples. “I... let me see if I can get our translator on this for you, in person. The network hires one whenever we’re on foreign assignment, but we haven’t needed him much in the hospital. At least you can plead your case, then. But if you really need it, maybe I can put some pressure on ‘em.”

Tendons in Poe’s neck had tightened into steel cables over the course of the morning, but he felt them soften and drop with the offer. If Suralinda and L’ulo wrote about it, maybe the unsavory press would be enough to grant Baaligh consent. His eyes widened, “Are you sure you want a dog in this fight? I thought you’re supposed to be objective.”

L’ulo exchanged a look with his partner, and then put a hand on Poe’s shoulder. “We’ve been talking about it and it’s worth speaking up for that boy.”

With an exhausted smile, Poe accepted their offer. He pulled L’ulo in for a hug and Suralinda chuckled at their comical height difference. Poe quickly wrapped his arms around Suralinda next, who sucked in a sharp gasp at the contact. She wobbled awkwardly as he pulled away. Oof. Poe really did have to reign in that automatic instinct to touch people. “I’m sorry. You... you guys aren’t really huggers, huh?”

”Not usually,” Suralinda said.

Vibrating in his pocket, Poe’s phone received a text from Snap. “It’s my C.O., I gotta take this.” 

After profusely thanking them again, he navigated back through the hallways. His boots felt lighter, though his eyes grew heavy. The sludge they passed off as coffee in the cafeteria didn’t hold a candle to his beloved Cafe Bustelo, but going without nicotine and caffeine today would be pure misery. The cafeteria was bustling with people. Visitors, patients and staff meandered about with trays that clattered against colorful tabletops. Poe just wanted a few minutes of silence after hours of pleading with the department head through an interpreter whose English was choppy, at best. After he procured a cup of particularly bitter coffee, he sat and checked his phone. 

Temmin Wexley: Change of plan- new mission tonight. Report at 19:00 

Temmin Wexley: Got it

The second text came after the first had been ignored for 20 minutes. Pursing his lips in frustration, Poe typed a response. 

Poe Dameron: yeah I’ll be there 

Temmin Wexley: Colonel wants us both to come in at 14:00 before the pre-flight briefing

Running a hand through his hair, Poe leaned back in the hard plastic seat. Last time the colonel had called him reckless; Poe preferred the term ‘resourceful’. But C’ai would be dead if not for his so-called stunt, that much was certain. Poe had felt relief that a reprimand seemed to be the only consequence of the dogfight in Iran, despite the kill that hadn’t yet been declassified. But now the colonel wanted to see them both again? 

Poe Dameron: fuck. ok 

This meant he’d have to put his efforts for Baaligh on hold. Grimacing through another sip of the brew, he tapped out a text. 

Fly Boy: squad has a flight tonight and I have a meeting with colonel at 2. I can’t stay. so sorry

Corazón: Did you talk to the department head?

Fly Boy: yes hes an asshole. says he has to have a legal guardian. Linda is seeing if their translator can help 

Corazón: Ugh! I’ll talk to them on my break. Thank you for helping. 

Poe still didn’t feel right. Maybe it was the impending meeting with the colonel. Maybe it was the sudden mission. Maybe it was the ticking clock on Bay’s kidneys or the death of the other patient in quarantine. Whatever it was, he didn’t want you taking the trip back to Al Udeid by yourself. 

Fly Boy: still coming to ride home with you. wait for me

Corazón: I will. Good luck with your meeting.

Stuffing his phone back into the back pocket near his holster, Poe tossed the Styrofoam cup into the trash. He made his way back to the base, dreading what was to come. 

——

Apparently word of Snap and Poe’s aerobatic escapades got around, and while the colonel was a somewhat forgiving man, his own commanding officers didn’t share his patience. The brigadier general was present in the meeting, and Poe’s knees about buckled when he saw the insignia. He’d pushed so hard to get back into the cockpit, that even the suggestion of losing it again made him nauseated. Those Cholula-covered eggs weren’t sitting well. Both Snap and Poe were given additional warnings to keep their tactics within normal scope of practice, and sent on their way. 

“Why are they so convinced we’re gonna tangle again?” Poe craned his head up at the harsh, saffron sky after they were dismissed. Was it just his anxiety, or were there a lot more MPs roaming around?

They walked through the base, Poe tagging along with Snap back toward the airfield for an opportunity to talk. Just ahead, a blonde with a backpack slung over her shoulder was stopped for a random bag check. Poe turned to his commander with concern.

“There’s been chatter of an upcoming attack,” Snap finally admitted as they entered the hangar. “This mission isn’t recon. We know the location of their munitions bunker.”

“Are we really going back into Iran?”

“We have satellite confirmation now, but the EMPs are still wiping out the drones. It has to be us.”

Rows of sophisticated jets stretched back under the curved roof, and metal clanking from a ground crew member pinged across the cavernous space. Snap’s F-35 gleamed in the light, its deadly silver curves like those of a fierce predator. A shark. A bird of prey. Poe’s F-16 was farther back, slightly older but nice and loose in the controls. 

”Where do they think—“

An uncomfortable shrug accompanied the commander’s answer. “Look at what happened in Al Anad.”

This time Poe’s knees swerved slightly, his step uneven. Imagining the flames that engulfed his squad mates in a hangar almost identical to the one he and Snap were standing in, Poe’s mouth fell open. Of course they’d try the same tactic again: it worked so well the first time.

Poe thought this news would send him into that hazy perspective where his body was made of plastic or rubber and he was a spectator. It didn’t. It bolstered his resolve, and with a scowl he set a trajectory toward his plane. “We can stop it. Yeah, let’s go now.”

”Whoa, hang on. You know it doesn’t work like that. We need to wait—“

Redemption. It was what Poe was searching for when he asked to be stationed at Al Udeid. Now he understood. Poe’s trigger finger itched. If he could, he’d jump into the F-16 right then and watch their cache of explosives fucking burn. He always swore he wouldn’t go into a mission with vengeance in his heart, that he’d use his head over his fists. But he thought of Baaligh crying under a mountain of rubble, dust clinging to the streaming of tears down his face. The unmoving, broken bodies of his parents heavy atop his small frame, growing cold and eventually stiff as the orphaned boy wailed for help alone. 

Anger lodged in Poe’s chest, a burning ember that wouldn’t be ignored. He was liable to do something stupid, idiotically self-sacrificing even, to prevent that from happening to anyone else. He’d use his head, use his fists, use his body as a human shield. To protect you. To protect Bay. 

Maybe he was as reckless as the colonel and the brigadier general accused him of being. 

”I know you wanna do this for your old squad. And they know the history too, that’s why they called us in. Emotions run high and people make weird choices… but we need you for this. Poe, you’re the best. I need your head in the game.”

Nodding in affirmation, Poe’s jaw clenched as he dug around in the pocket of his ABUs for another stick of gum. The smell of cheap cinnamon flavoring was gonna come out through his pores if he kept this up. 

“There’s a boy who was orphaned in the last attack. He’s at the hospital. Snap, he’s like two with these giant eyes and these tiny little feet and I…“ Poe’s words caught momentum, faster as he spoke through a slight tremble in his bottom lip. He was enraged that Baaligh had been put through Hell and was now in the glass Purgatory of quarantine. He paused, not looking up to Snap’s bearded face. “They won’t let him do the genre therapy, because it’s experimental and he doesn’t have anyone to give proper consent.”

Snap deflated at the admission. For a flickering moment, he met Poe’s eyes and he didn’t trust what he found there. Fury. Barely contained. He fiddled with a stack of files as he searched for a response, deliberating whether he should be neutral or frank. “These assholes are responsible for a lot of pain.” 

“His name is Baaligh. I wanna do this for him, too. And I...”

Poe faltered slightly, peeling the foil wrapper of the gum. Was it too much to divulge now, on the cusp of a crucial mission? 

“I wanna adopt him.”

”Well, shit.” Snap rocked back on the balls of his feet, brows lifted high. “Seriously?”

One look at Poe’s face confirmed it: He’d do anything for that boy. 

A release valve on the tension mounting between them, Snap offered a thin smile. Poe huffed out a short, self-depreciative laugh, fully aware of how strange it must sound to his friend. They’d have plenty to talk about later, after the mission.

“Alright then, Captain. Sure you’re alright to fly?”

”Uh-uh. I’m gonna head back to the hospital first, though.”

”Getting your wife?”

“I don’t want her out in Doha alone when we’re at Threatcon Charlie like this. And she’s probably gonna need her passport to get back on base anyway.”

”Good idea. I’ll see you at the pre-flight.”

Determination in his stride, Poe split off and started back toward the officer’s housing.

“Poe-“ he spun around at Snap’s addition. “-be careful out there.” 

He nodded and resumed his journey back. He’d have some time to change out of his ABUs, take B.B. for a quick walk and grab your passport before taking the bus back to downtown. Mentally dividing up his time, Poe surveyed the rows of bland buildings and noticed for the first time that one of them was a church. Well, a church was probably too generous term for it. It didn’t have the handsomeness of St Bartholomew's back in Valdosta or the timeless beauty of the mosques in Doha. This was generic- and yet Poe was drawn in. 

He hadn’t been in a holy place since Cassian’s funeral. And he couldn’t remember the last time before that. But he needed help and so much seemed stacked against him.

Sighing, he swung open the door to find a few empty walnut-stained pews facing a small matching pulpit, cream walls and not much else. Although he knew the space was deliberately non-denominational, it still felt strange to be in a church that didn’t at least have stained glass. Off in a corner, a table of votives flickered. He removed his cap and stomped the dust off his boots before entering.

Aided by the soft scent of frankincense, memories came flooding back and his anger softened. Poe and his cousin Ben lighting candles when Kes and Shara were away. Cassian’s funeral. Cassian’s little nieces  and nephews. Poe was brought back to the memory of children in suits and dresses shedding their formal shoes to run barefoot on the grass. Paper planes riding the wind for a moment before twirling down. Laughter. Funny how he’d think of that more than the grief which motivated him to return to the Middle East.

Maybe that was good thing. 

The first candle was for Baaligh. Poe murmured a plea for the boy’s health and to remove the obstacles. He ignited the wick, sending it upward. 

The second candle was for you. For safety, peace of mind. Within the crimson votive holder, the flame danced. 

The third candle was for Black Squadron, that every member may return home in one piece. Last time they searched for the bunker, it nearly killed them. When it was lit, Poe leaned back and stared for a moment. 

Maybe it was too much to ask, but he had to try. 

Bowing his head, Poe knew he wasn’t in control. Relinquishing the illusion wasn’t easy but he sucked a breath in with humility and asked for his path to be clear. He needed to fly unclouded by resentment or aggression. He needed to stay in the present moment, not relive the past. He needed to believe in hope, especially as the sun began to set. Especially in the darkness of night, in the green filter of night vision goggles.  

Then he swallowed hard and requested another second chance. Not because he deserved it but because they did. You did. Bay did. 

Maybe if he prayed hard enough, it would protect the people he loved. Maybe you’d all make it through the night.

——

Parsing though the genetic composition files one more time, you squinted into the computer monitor. An abrupt cough alerted you to the presence of Dr. Skywalker. Both hands were stuffed into the pockets of his pristine lab coat as you swiveled in your desk chair.

“Dr. Skywalker.“ Rising to your feet, you frowned at the memory of your outburst. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior yesterday. Being on this team means so much to me and I respect you so much, sir.”

“I talked to your husband earlier, he stopped me in the hallway—“

You gulped, in the knowledge that Poe’s warmth intensified to a burning protective flame whenever danger threatened someone he cared about. He probably cornered your boss, poking an accusing finger into his chest for not doing enough. “I am so sorry...”

”What for? He asked if there’s anything else I could do. I thought a lot about what you said last night and even though it’s a slippery slope, getting Baaligh approved would be his best shot. So I spent the morning trying to oil the gears for that kid.”

Embarrassment was replaced with immense gratitude. Jaw relaxing, the tingle of blood in your cheeks began to diffuse. “You did that?”

Dr. Skywalker formed a small space between the index finger and thumb of his metal hand. “You have about this much of a chance. We’ll keep trying but it’s doesn’t look promising if he doesn’t have a guardian to consent.”

The question burst out of you in a mixture of honesty and indignation. And you didn’t regret it.  “What if I became his guardian?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHHHHHHH! We are so close to the climax!
> 
> How do you guys feel about Corazon and Poe finally admitting they want to adopt Baaligh?


	16. Shape of Your Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe is caught between a rock and a hard place as his worst fears are realized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic violence ahead.
> 
> Chapter Soundtrack: 
> 
> Last Resort & Spa by Battle Tapes: https://open.spotify.com/track/0XTF9X6GQuH44vh4K0bdps?si=Kn9zjo9WT4WXejBZ6MoB8g

“Dr. Mothma just left for the day. Can I help you with anything?” Luke waved you inside his tasteful corner office, where he was studying an expanse of files laid across the desk. L’ulo sat across from him, dragging a pita across a bowl of baba ghanoush. 

Adjusting the strap of your purse along your shoulder, you offered the folder full of reports. The rest of the research team had clocked out about an hour ago but you stayed behind. “I wanted to let her know I ran the numbers on that sample again and we’re ready to begin synthesis.”

“Ahead of schedule!” The epidemiologist’s mood brightened considerably. “She’ll be so pleased. Do you have a moment to sit with us?”

Remembering the date you had with Poe and Baaligh, you held up your hands. “Oh, I really have to—“

Suralinda interrupted, “Try this. It’s amazing.” She held the platter out and you shrugged before selecting a chip and loading it with some of the eggplant dip. 

“We’re impressed with you, Dameron,” Luke commented as you chewed. He removed his reading glasses and peered at you from behind the stack of files. “Are you really serious about becoming his guardian?”

This was your boss, the man who had taken a gamble on hiring you. Dr. Luke Skywalker: whose very name was synonymous with the most cutting-edge techniques, who could make or break your career. Everything you had sacrificed was for this opportunity- and yet... 

“Yes. I mean, I am. I’ll have to talk to Poe but I’d be shocked if he doesn’t feel the same. I know it wouldn’t be easy with us being Americans but he could have a chance.”

”And then what?” L’ulo asked, lifting his video camera from a side table. “What if he gets the gene therapy and gets better?”

Unsure of what to say, your eyes search his for a moment. “Then he comes home with us. And we’ll be a family.”

Luke’s head tilted as he examined your face, searching for authenticity. He looked down fondly. “I was adopted. My aunt and uncle raised me.”

Suralinda and L’ulo turned. 

“If you’re serious about this—“

The windows behind Luke’s desk rattled against a dull thump in the distance.

L’ulo looked puzzled. “Earthquake?”

You braced your stance, eyes flicking around the room. Nothing else seemed to move. After a moment, you all exchanged glances. 

“Huh.” Suralinda tapped her phone screen. “Network’s down.” 

“Some earthquake,” Luke commented. 

Your eyes volleyed between them and then focused just past Luke’s bearded face, on the wide windows along the corner of his office. A murky cloud of darkness rose in the distance. 

Jaw dropping in the realization, you backed into the door frame. 

“What?” Luke’s face paled in response and he swiveled in his chair. A soft gasp was tugged free at the sight of something burning on the ground, flaky embers and ash lifting high in the air. “The cell tower.”

”Would a small earthquake do that? Or...” L’ulo asked skeptically. Suralinda scrunched up her face in a doubtful frown. “Anything’s possible, right?

 

————

 

With the threat level raised, Poe didn’t want to attract any extra attention to himself. He changed back into his civilian clothes and slipped a magazine of ammunition into his pocket along with both your passports. 15 rounds for his M9. The base was alive with motion, and Poe wondered how many of his fellow airmen knew what loomed on the horizon. The bus stop just outside the base was usually filled with people- Today it was deserted. 

The bus arrived and Poe gnawed on his cheek, leg bobbing up and down as he scanned the faces of the passengers again. He couldn’t tell you about the mission, the what or where. And he couldn’t tell you the context of this one without explaining the previous covert one. You still didn’t know about the kill. 

A rumble shook the street, a deep throaty rush of sound overpowering all other senses. 

Poe’s entire bond tensed, wound tight as a spring. 

The bus jerked along the road, swerving at the sudden shock. It came to an abrupt stop, momentum sending passengers thumping into the rows of seats. Screams and gasps consumed the space, mixing with car horns. The entire road was stopped. 

Frantic eyes searched for the location of the blast, but Poe couldn’t pinpoint it. Might’ve  come from the East. The base was to the South. The attack on Al Anad had been the worst on an American base since Pearl Harbor- Poe shuddered to think of the loss of life possible if Al Udeid was targeted this time. Then the cloud of smoke and dust appeared, rounded and soft-looking before it consumed the sky. Its greed wasn’t sated. And so it consumed the buildings, the street, the bus, and the helpless commuters within. It didn’t seem to come from the direction of the base. 

Air siphoned violently from Poe’s chest. 

Stay here. Breathe. His fingertips dug into the seat cushion, a tenuous hold on control and the present moment. Stay here. Don’t go on autopilot- just focus on the light, Dameron. 

Energy inside the bus reached a fever pitch as the cloud engulfed it. Some passengers cried out, ducking low in the seats, while others dashed to the windows in an attempt to see. The air was bitter, smoke-tinged. Poe choked on it, hand grazing his St. Joseph pendant as he pat his sternum. He was a pilot; he was needed in the air. Black Squadron needed him. Now. Duty dictated that he return to the base in an emergency, even if it weren’t for the upcoming mission. He knew he should go back. And yet his heart compelled him toward his wife. 

Poe had sworn two oaths and one of those was ‘til death. 

He yanked his smartphone from his pocket to check in with you and found no signal. Nothing. “No, no, no... mierda,” he muttered to himself as he realized the explosion must have taken down the cell tower. 

Poe couldn’t contact Snap, couldn’t contact you. The bus was at a standstill in the street, drivers temporarily blinded by the swirl of smoke and dust from blocks away. His hands trembled, gripping the headrest of the seat in front as adrenaline and cortisol coursed through his veins. 

A second blast detonated, unmistakable. Jerking his head to the left side of the bus, Poe realized it was somewhere slightly North. Near the hospital. Chaos erupted around him again. An older woman with a bag of fruit on her lap sobbed and concealed a few wisps of silver hair back under her hijab. Two teenage boys stared out the window, frozen by shock.

This wasn’t a single bomb, this was an orchestrated attack. And intel was too slow to act on it. 

Poe tried to curse again but realized he couldn’t breathe. His eyes burned as the air inside the bus grew more stale and smoky. He couldn’t breathe. He could go back to the base- he should go back to the base. But leaving you out in this wasn’t an option. He couldn’t fucking breathe. 

Rising to his feet, Poe pushed past a clump of people with a half-hearted apology and yanked the bus door open as the driver protested in Arabic. 

Soon as he was out in the street, his esophagus burned. Ash began to drift on the desert breeze, and Poe could smell the fire still burning. Car alarms blared and the sidewalk was a mess of panicked bodies fleeing. Far off, a man wailed with the belligerence of immediate, searing grief. The sound raised the hair on the back of Poe’s neck and sent his heart plummeting through the pavement below. 

Civilian boots scrambled along the sidewalk as he dodged groups of people craning their heads for a glimpse of the destruction, an orange glow barely visible through the gaps between buildings. Past the luxury shops, the chic sidewalk cafes were filled with people rising from their seats to watch the scene with gaping mouths and helplessness in their eyes. They barely registered with Poe, his mind only revolving around the deeply real possibility that the person he loved had come to harm. 

Because of him. 

No, he tried to remind himself. Guilt squirmed within as he wove around the umbrella-covered tables on the sidewalk and pedestrians gazing numbly at the sight of fluttering ash. This fight was brutal before Black Squadron arrived. But this was now the second attack on Doha since he’d dropped two Iranian planes. It wasn’t a coincidence.

The closer he got to the hospital, the thicker the smoke became. Poe jogged a few blocks, struggling as it clogged his lungs. He should’ve quit cigarettes months ago. Traffic was at a standstill and children in the back of cars stared hauntingly out the windows. He could just make out the main building, barely reading the letters on the side.

A boxy industrial van surged ahead, cutting through the space in between the lanes. One tire lifted up on the curb as it careened down the car-littered street. Now Poe was sure his heart had stopped. 

Through the parking lot, it scraped the side mirror off a car on the way. His mouth fell open. Into the entrance to the main lobby. 

Shrieking with the force, the glass panels burst as the van shattered through. Poe could practically feel the impact ripping him to shreds. His brows were driven up, as if by the pitch of the first scream. Shrill. That unmistakable note that was universally understood as terror. Poe felt as if he’d fallen into a frozen lake: suspended in time for one brief moment before being consumed by a cold so very icy it penetrated the very marrow of his bones.

His nightmare was coming true.  He pulled the Beretta from his waistband holster and switched the safety off, pointing the barrel of the gun low to the ground as he sprinted to close the distance. 

Two shots, POP POP. 

Screams and a crashing sound followed, Poe’s feet following the horrible sounds on their own volition. He shouldn’t be there. But he had to be there. Someone had to do something. 

Shards of glass were thrown in all directions, crunching under his boots as he approached. He slipped alongside the entrance and tried to get a visual. The far corner wall of the lobby was cast in a spiderweb shatter pattern but was still standing, and Poe flattened himself against it. A few male voices competed for attention, the deepest of which seemed to be barking directions. Shadows moved and four more shots rang out, accompanied by a shout and a grunt. 

Grasping the serrated edge of the slide, Poe  pulled it back to chamber a round. Espresso eyes closed for a moment, he thought of you. The way you kissed his eyelids. The way your laugh reverberated. The way it felt to love with abandon. Poe attempted to take a steadying breath, lungs instead filling with the rancid smoke. Then he turned the corner. 

 

\--——

 

With the second blast, darkness descended around Luke’s office. The corner windows offered just enough golden evening light to make out the faces of your companions as the realization washed over each one: a potent mix of horror and fear. 

Moments later, the backup generator kicked in and half of the lights blinked back to life. L’ulo’s eyes darted to Suralinda first, then to you and Luke. No one was sure what to do next. 

L’ulo flipped the camera to record and Suralinda spoke into it. “Power just went out at Doha General Hospital following back to back explosions, apparently in the downtown area.” He zoomed into the looming smoke cloud engulfing the view outside of the window. 

“Thankfully the building has its own generator,” Luke remarked in the dimmed office. You nodded in vague agreement, but your heart was elsewhere. Even Suralinda and L’ulo filming in a time of danger wasn’t affecting you as it normally would have. 

Suralinda continued, “No evacuation warnings or alarms have gone off yet, so for the time being...”

Poe. Where was he? Everything else was on the periphery, knowing he was unaccounted for. Her voice slid away into the background and you approached the door of Luke’s office. “I’m gonna see if anyone working late knows anything,” you muttered, opening it. 

The research floor of the building was all but deserted at this hour, and you jogged toward the front entrance where Poe was supposed to meet you. Suralinda gripped L’ulo’s arm as Luke led the way through the twisting corridors, the camera on his shoulders still recording. 

Echoes of a faraway crash broke the dense silence, coming from the main hospital building.

Gunshots. At least two. 

A frightened yelp escaped your mouth. And Luke turned with both hands up in a ‘quiet’ signal. Instinctively, your feet began the backtrack toward the stairwell before your mind even completely processed the brutal sound. 

In the shuffle, the sunshine yellow scarf from Lando fell to the tile floor. Luke pushed you back toward the doors and a second later Suralinda and L’ulo joined. A heavy metal door slammed behind you. The landing of the stairwell was tight and illuminated only by the meager glow of a small emergency sign, and you were certain your blouse was soaked through with sweat already. You couldn’t think like this, not with a camera in your face and some unknown horror playing out somewhere close by. 

Poe. Was he out there now? Was he there when—

Over the intercom, a voice spoke in Arabic. Composed in the stress. Must be a nurse. 

“What’s she saying?” L’ulo asked no one in particular. His inquiry was met with only meek shrugs. The voice repeated its warning, fear creeping into the last words before more gunshots rang out. 

“They’re here for the pathogen,” you gasped as it dawned on you. Hospitals were typical targets of violence but Doha offered something unique: the ability to destroy the progress made against the terrorist’s biological weapon. Possibly even the re-release the pathogen and other samples in the biosafety cabinet. 

”They’re trying to disable the safety protocols.” Luke completed the thought with a swipe of his prosthetic hand across his sandy beard. “Must’ve come through the back to take it out first. We’ve gotta get outta here. Evacuate the building. Hopefully that was an evacuation announcement.”

”The kids!” Urgency infused your voice as it amplified in the brick and metal stairwell. 

Suralinda’s topaz eyes flashed with a terrible welling of emotion with your outburst. “Wha- what are we supposed to do? They’re quarantined for a reason.”

”We can’t just leave them to die,” L’ulo cut in. 

“But if you release it and contaminate the hospital...” Luke didn’t complete the sentence, because he wasn’t quite sure how. Would trying to save them condemn the rest of the people in the area to a fate of hemorrhage or rapid kidney failure? What could justify leaving children to die alone in a glass cage? “We just don’t know how long its contagious for.”

Impassioned and rushed, your argument spilled out. “We don’t even have any evidence that it’s communicable person-to-person after initial contact.”

”The Qatari government has been very adamant about the quarantine.” The man’s face was filled with regret but your resolve didn’t waver. Another flurry of gunshots were muffled but definitely heard by all. Everyone on the landing flinched at the sound and huddled closer to one another. A beat passed, your trembling hands sought the sensory input of the tassels at the ends of your scarf but found the garment was now missing. 

Suralinda protested, “Did you forget a patient just died last night? The little girl in the first room? And now you want to just open the door?!” 

“The Qatari policy isn’t even evidence-based. I know the whole point is to be cautious but—“ Steeling yourself, you cracked the door open with a grimace. An empty corridor beckoned. “—if Dr. Skywalker is right, we need to get everyone out. That includes them.” Eyes full of fire stared at the exit sign in the stairwell, Arabic letters glowing dimly against the darkness. 

“If you’re serious about adopting that kid, you need to start thinking. American expats that break the law risk deportation, you know.” Luke’s hand found your shoulder, his pained blue eyes softening farther as he offered a gentle squeeze. “I just don’t believe it’s the smartest thing to do. We all know you mean well but good intentions don’t always lead to good plans. Believe me.”

Heaving a stale sigh, you nodded. Conflict stirred in your heart. Of course you knew how complicated it was, yet how simple. Setting them free- for a woeful lack of a better term- could result in a whole host of problems. First of all, mass death. Contaminating the hospital wouldn’t solve any issues. Then there was the issue of legality. The quarantine was enforced by law as of now, with no end in sight or even being discussed. Indefinite isolation. Breaking that law to aid them, however benevolently intended, could be catastrophic. Deportation. Separation from Poe. Losing the job you loved. Even time in a foreign prison was a possibility. 

But the worst-case alternative would be an unbearable burden on your soul.

 

——

 

Stay sharp. Inhale. More smoke than air was pulled into his lungs. Don’t be reckless. Exhale. Focus on the light. 

For a moment, Poe considered the recklessness of his heart.Every relationship has its end and Poe hadn’t been naive to that fact since Shara died. Whether through failure or death, an end will eventually come- and with the potential for absolute devastation. To love is to lower all defenses and run recklessly into the greatest risk. Loving you was worth it.Loving Bay would be worth it. But he couldn’t face the end just yet. 

Inhale.

Turning the corner, Poe found a darkened lobby with a van positioned in the center. One door still open, front end crushed. On the way in, it had demolished the plate glass exterior walls and doors, slamming into a row of chairs in the waiting area- presumably with a few people still seated in them. His stomach clenched at vacant eyes of a still, blood-smeared woman twisted in one of the overturned chairs. More people were scattered face-down, red blooming across their backs and pooling on the tile, apparently gunned down as they fled. 

Sure, Poe knew his way around a sidearm, but his role as a soldier had never been combatant on the ground. Now he was feet away from a handful of Houthi-aligned terrorists and it was disturbingly personal. The Beretta was heavy in his hands as his eyes swept over the space to assess for threats. He found none but heard shouting faintly from the cafeteria area.

A woman’s voice came over speakers in the corners of the lobby. Arabic. Probably some kind of evacuation announcement. More gunshots. 

A spent magazine clamored to the floor and Poe flattened himself against a wall between the waiting area chairs and triage. Licking his lip anxiously, he gathered the bead of sweat that settled in the dip just above. A man emerged and defensively yelled something to the other, still unseen, who had the deeper voice. He ripped both back doors of the van open. If he was doing what Poe suspected, it was now or never. 

His body was electric. 

Round chambered, he took aim. 

Movement caught the man’s peripheral vision, and he jumped inside the van for cover as Poe got one round off. 

“Fuck!” Poe hissed. No way to tell if it landed. 

A heavy, metallic noise came from the van and Poe swallowed his fear, approaching the open doors before he lost the nerve. 

Another sharp clank of metal on metal, a gasp. Okay. So maybe it did land. Either way, he wasn’t dead. But Poe couldn’t just fire into the van; it had to have been loaded with some kind of explosive. If the detonation countdown hadn’t been activated already, he might be able to stop it. Save lives. Do what he came to Qatar to do.

Knuckles straining as he gripped the Beretta’s trigger, Poe’s boots carried him closer. He moved along the side of the white van as his heart punched in a feral pace within in his throat. Noises of movement inside the van dimmed and then stopped. Closer.

No time to gather himself. He was going to either take a life or sacrifice his own now. 

Sucking in a jagged gulp of air, Poe sprung forward toward the open door. He found the insurgent slumped over a box, pawing weakly at the sticky flow of crimson from his chest. The terrorist’s gaze was becoming more glassy and distant by the millisecond but he continued to move, reaching— 

“No!”

Poe put one more round into the man’s chest, stilling his movements permanently. He glanced back over his shoulder then peered deeper inside. Wild eyes fell on the object he’d been reaching for: some kind of crude arming device that looked as if was fashioned primarily from the controller of a backyard drone or RC car. Maybe he’d returned to the van because it had malfunctioned? A key was hanging out of one end and Poe gingerly lifted the controller and removed it, slipping the flat silver piece into his pocket. Didn’t exactly make it safer, as the C4 or whatever the Hell it was still could be ignited with a gunshot, but at least use of the remote was no longer an option.

A small group of people, maybe eight or so members of the cafeteria staff by the looks of it, slowly stepped into what remained of the shattered lobby. A dark skinned woman in a chef’s coat leading the group let out an involuntary noise when she saw Poe and the weapon in his vibrating hands. He put on his least threatening face, though he was still standing next to a bomb on wheels with a bloody corpse in the back.

“Quickly! Go!” he motioned, pointing toward the outside.

He doubted they could speak English, but he wasn’t about to holster the hot muzzle of the Beretta knowing there was at least one more of these murders close by. She nodded and gripped the hands of an elderly couple as they made their way across the destruction toward the jagged glass of the front doors. It wasn’t exactly safe out there either but clearing the potential blast radius was smarter than staying inside. 

More screams filtered in from the direction of the cafeteria as the group cleared the room. The path to the pedestrian bridge to the WHO building on the third floor passed through there, so there probably wasn’t a way to cut them off before they reached your workplace. He had to try. Poe positioned himself between the people and the cafeteria, covering them as they dashed through the lobby and scattered into the street. More poured in from different paths, frightened eyes and weary faces. Walkers and IV poles. Scrubs and gowns. Visitor, staff and patient alike. 

He dodged them; needed to reach you.  

The impressive frosted glass walls in front had been crunched and shattered. Poe’s lungs burned still. Most of the smoke and ash had been carried off in the arid breeze but his labored breath was a product of fear more than anything. Ducking low, he cut across the landscaping in front of the facility toward the WHO building farther back. If only his phone had service now, to know where you were. 

A truck barreled through the Emergency Room entrance, across the grass. A handful of men hopped out of the bed, each toting a Type 56 assault rifle. They split off toward the main entrance and the lobby of the WHO building before the truck driver continued to navigate around behind it.

So began the second phase of the attack. Poe recognized it from training, a common tactic of initial attack, stalling for evacuation and for first responders to come, then competing the attack for maximum casualties.  

A spray of bullets flew through the air, finding little resistance in the bodies of those fleeing Doha General Hospital in terror. 

Iceberg clots threatened to form as Poe’s blood went frigid. They were deliberately targeting the epidemiology lab. From his spot behind the bush, he aimed at one who was shouting as he killed defenseless people. 

Breathe in. Steady. Aim. Squeeze. 

POP POP POP

Bullets tore into the brick wall behind Poe, and he threw himself into the plant for more cover. Through a space in the leaves, he could see the man had been hit. Staggering, the insurgent lifted his rifle and spat something vile from his blood-rimmed mouth. 

POP

With a final flash, the man dropped limply to the ground but Poe’s position was compromised. He crouched down, the scent of gunpowder and soil filling his nose. He had to keep moving. Sprinting, his legs were a frantic blur of denim. He wasn’t even sure of what to do now but he needed to move. 

A rapid hail of gunfire quickly eliminated the black-outfitted security guard soon as he showed himself. The remorseless killer stepped over his slumped form in the doorway and entered. More shots followed, muffled by the walls. Poe would have to deal with him inside. 

Along the edge of the building, Poe stayed. The painful frequency of an alarm sounded from somewhere inside and he felt it in his chest, sharp and pointed like a sea urchin. He craned his head but couldn’t tell where the truck had gone or how many more insurgents were around. Reaching a side entrance, Poe breathed a sigh of relief- to find it only opened from the inside. He’d have to enter through the front, and ran back around to do so. 

The lobby was empty, save for the bodies of the guard and a man in a lab coat Poe didn’t recognize. Wincing, he tried to avoid looking into his face as he knelt down to pluck the access badge from the lanyard around his neck. Poe slapped the badge over the scanner and entered the glass maze of the epidemiology lab. 

Crashing sounds came from the floor just above him, a hollow rattle of metal. All this stuff was bullet proof, right? But bullet proof wasn’t the same as bomb proof. He passed the sample case and tried not to think about what was on the other side. M9 raised high, Poe turned the corner in search of the remaining assailants.

Then he saw it: Draped gracefully on the ground, a canary yellow scarf. 

Breathless, he gasped like fireflies trapped in a mason jar someone forgot to punch with air holes. He ran to it, then looked helplessly around for another clue. The corridor split and an eerie silence remained. Left. Right. Baaligh. Hila. You had to be in the quarantine ward. Poe tore down the corridor, not caring about the echo of his footsteps. He reached the end and took a sharp turn down to the ward at the far corner of the building. He still hadn’t heard or seen the remaining man and was unsure how many came in through another entrance. 

The familiar walls of glass- the ones he talked and laughed through and pressed against with hands that wanted to tickle and hold- were still intact. That was something. He approached the first one, still empty, and——

He felt more than saw the blast. 

A primal noise ripped from Poe’s dry throat as he was thrown violently back in a powerful wave of heat and pressure. It almost took the shape of your name, and would have if not for the split-second of time between the blast itself and the impact of Poe’s body against the unforgiving panel of shatterproof glass. 

Weightless.

Helpless. 

Darkness didn’t seep into his peripheral vision slowly. It yawned wide and swallowed him whole. 

 


	17. Infinite Prisms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conscience and survival are at odds as the hospital crumbles around you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic violence including character death. This chapter is entirely from Corazón’s perspective.
> 
> Chapter Soundtrack: 
> 
> Fireworks by Siouxie and the Banshees: https://open.spotify.com/track/7MyA3s6o5MnoneWELTjW9J?si=mGTr7vKvRVC7w5gbWaET7Q

“Okay,” you nod. “Just go in, secure them, get out. I can do that.”

Suralinda expressed her doubts through a thin-lipped frown.

“I suit up everyday. And they know me.”

The reflective lens of L’ulo’s camera stayed trained on you as you pulled the Tvyek biohazard suit up around your hips. It wasn’t helping you be any less nervous. But when you looked at Luke, a gentleness in his eyes assured you that that it was going to be alright.

The first patient in the row was a boy, roughly 15. Both he and Hila were students at the school leveled 3 months prior, the same month as the attack that killed Cassian. Nasir was the oldest victim who’d survived the bombing, and although Luke had bonded with him the most, the boy was very reserved. After attaching your hood, Luke handed your phone over, set to the English-to-Arabic translation app, along with a screwdriver found in the small toolkit he kept under his desk. In exchange, you handed him the M9 procured from the inner pocket of your handbag.

“Where the Hell did that come from?,” he blurted, unprofessional in his amazement. “Have you just been carrying this the whole time?!”

“I have permit.” A meek shrug accompanied your explanation. “Poe insisted. I don’t really have much experience but I was a pretty good shot at the range. Can you use it?”

Luke’s bearded face broke into a smile. “I grew up on a dairy farm in Kentucky. You just focus on getting those kids tucked away, and I’ll manage.”

A thankful sigh let out as you trusted the weapon to your project manager, and together you sealed up the vulnerable areas of the suit. Steeling yourself, you entered through the sealed door. Pressurization of the air made your ears pop on the other side, and you stood within the clinical room with the glass wall. “There’s an emergency,” you explained into the phone slowly, hoping that it was clear enough to understand your words and give an accurate translation. Tapping your foot on each corner of the bed, you rolled it to the center of the room under the vent. “You’re going up there.”

The Yemeni boy’s face was flooded with fear as your words were repeated back to him in his native language. He shook his head, muttering something too low and quick for the app to discern. A suggestion of a mustache covered his top lip and he was substantially taller than you, but he was still a terrified boy who already survived so much when his school collapsed on an otherwise mundane Wednesday afternoon.

“Hey-“ you squeezed his shoulder with a gloved hand and he flinched- “you’re gonna hide. They won’t find you.”

Climbing atop the bed, you extended your hand to help him up, then noticed the IV still in his hand. After finding a box of cotton balls and surgical tape, you gingerly tried to remove the small catheter from his hand, apologizing as he winced. “Oh, sorry! I’ve never done this before.”

“Hurry.” Suralinda’s voice was muffled through the glass as the group stood on the other side, watching. “We don’t know where they are.”

Once Nasir’s hand was tended to, you climbed back up and set to work unscrewing the vent attached to the large duct that kept air from the room from circulating into the rest of the ward. The metal plate fell on top of the pristine bleached sheets and he looked at you with hesitation then toward the door you came in through.

This was the hard part- walking through the door and leaving him behind. The pathogen was deadly, a swift death for almost all who contacted it- but the incubation and communicable phases were known. So many unknowns. Were three promising young lives worth the potential sacrifice of many?

If you followed your heart, you could personally be responsible for another wave of devastation. A tear rolled down your cheek as you stood at the crossroad, thinking of the child huddled in that duct. Alone and scared. “Please,” you pleaded. “You’ll be safer up there until they leave. Just stay and be quiet. Amina. Amina.” _Safe_. _Safe_.

Betrayal seemed to shade his russet eyes when he realized he wouldn’t be able to properly flee. Posture hardening in resentment, he lifted himself into the mouth of the rectangular duct with a metallic clamor. Nasir brought his knees defensively to his chest inside, tucked in tight like a pill bug.

Replacing the vent loosely with only two screws barely in place, you made sure he would be able to easily kick the vent free to get down and moved the bed back to its original spot. Through the glass wall, you saw Fatima approach in her trademark floral print scrubs with coordinating hijab. She stood puzzled as Luke and Suralinda relayed the plan to her: each vent was sealed, a closed air supply. If the patients hid inside, there wouldn’t be a risk of cross-contamination.

Hila was next. You entered her room, decorated with pages torn from the My Little Pony coloring book and a couple stuffed animals her family had brought. Without hesitation, she embraced you with frail arms. The bulky Tyvek suit partially deflated where her small body pressed against yours. You regretted being unable to offers more comfort than that. Breaking away, you moved her bed just below the metal vent and went to work loosening the screws. As your screwdriver twirled, she held your phone as you spoke into the translation app. “Climb up. It’s okay. You’ll be safe. Just stay inside and quiet, and I’ll come back.”

Hila was many things: artistically talented, full of giggles, warm and friendly. Naive wasn’t one.

Her eyes, which usually held a youthful sparkle despite the deep circles underneath, communicated that she knew you doubted. Sometimes adults lie. She knew this and chose to trust you anyway. After going through so much, it was unfair for her to experience this horror again- much less in the place she was supposed to be healing after that trauma. You locked the wheels of the hospital bed, removed your heels and hoisted her up, giving big squeeze of reassurance.

Panic began to consume her as you tried to give her a boost up into the duct, swollen legs in pink leggings and fuzzy slippers awkward and weakened by illness. Clinging to you, she let out a wail that wrenched your chest. Breathing in the chemical scent of the oxygen circulating within your suit, you willed yourself to stay calm, for the girl’s sake. She wouldn’t be able to understand or listen to you if you went into hysterics, too.

“Amina. Amina. Please... safe. Hila.” Tears began to form, and the humidity within the suit began to collect on the face visor. “You can do this. I know you can. Do this for your family.”

“Dameron, come on! Did you hear that?” L’ulo shouted, still balancing the camera on his broad shoulders next to the nurses station. Fatima tested out a large flashlight she located and eyed the hallway warily.

As the app repeated the words to Hila in Arabic, her petite frame trembled with emotion. She sobbed into the rubberized surface of the suit as you summoned all your fortitude to give her a stern look. Time was running out. Another muffled series of sounds found your ears and L’ulo’s face twisted in fear. You pushed her up into the duct with misted eyes, then plucked a stuffed animal from her bed for her to hold. Skinny brown fingers wrapped around the soft blue texture of a Pegasus as you nodded once again in reassurance before loosely rescrewing the vent and moving her bed back. As you left the room, sniffling echoed within the cold planes of the duct- and your heart caved in on itself.

POP POP

Harsh metallic sounds cut through the air, and for a moment your feet were leaden. They were closer- no longer a far away bursts. From here, you could sense the force behind them.

Suddenly as you were frozen, you found yourself spurred by the jolt of adrenaline into Baaligh’s room. He ran from the bed into your arms and every tear you’d forced back came forth. Gloved hands cradled the back of his head, wanting so badly to feel the wispy texture of his hair. How could you possibly convince a two year old to stay hidden in this vent hanging in the ceiling?

Unless you stayed and hid with him.

No. That wasn’t advised. The suit only held enough air for one hour and in your haste, you grabbed one with an oxygen tank that was only half full.

Baaligh still hadn’t let go, so you set him on the bed before going to work on the vent cover. “Listen, Bay. We’re gonna hide.” Pantomiming with your finger over your lips, you made an exaggerated ssshhhhhhh. “Very quiet.” Ragged breaths were still sucked in through his runny nose, but the toddler seemed to understand. If only Poe was here- he was so intuitive when it came to children.

You began moving the bed with him still on it and he cried out, grasping the rubber sleeves on your arms. More gunshots rang out and you tried to keep a neutral expression as another wave of urgency crashed over you. Fatima approached the glass, seriousness in her eyes as they met Baaligh’s. He stayed in your arms but watched his nurse intently. Mimicking your action, she rested her index finger over her closed lips. “Baaligh, it’s gonna be o—“

A spray of bullets ripped through her.

Fatima twisted as she fell, hands up as her flashlight fell to the floor. Wails mixed with the deafening ring of an automatic rifle. Everything was panic. Survival. Fear.

Instinct forced you down, muffling Baaligh’s screams as you ducked for cover behind the bed. The tiny body in your arms quivered violently. “Shhhh... shhhhhh.... shhhhhh...”

Air filtered through the mask, but none of it entered your lungs. Breath held, you crouched low, facing the inner wall so that Baaligh would be spared witnessing more bloodshed.

POPPOPPOP

Three shots were fired, a rapid succession. They sounded different. Not a steady string like the ones that just killed Fatima. Eyes crunched closed, you gripped Baaligh, wrapping around him, covering him, shielding him in your pressurized suit. A deep male voice shouted in Arabic, and your blood went cold before a shattering filled your senses.

The glass wall came down in a cascade.

One million. Two million. Infinite prisms catching what was left of the light in their raw edges. They blew toward you, flying into the drywall with a deadly speed along with the bullets.

POP POP POPPOP

“L’ulo!” Suralinda let out a sob. His voice didn’t follow. Fear seized you again- there wasn’t much chance of getting out alive.

“Dameron!” Though steeped in terror, you recognized Luke’s voice. “You okay?”

When you dared look out into the corridor, Fatima’s body faced toward the glass wall, vacant eyes partially covered by the blood spattered hijab that had become loosened. Her last moments had been nurturing a scared child. Baaligh clung to you but the glass was broken. The division between safety and danger was in a infinite shards across the tile floor. 

If he was infectious, the safety protocol meant little at this point. Quickly, you gave Bay a once-over and didn’t find any physical injuries. Twin rivers streamed down his face. “Yeah, we’re okay,” you managed to answer through shell-shock. “Is he...?”

There was a sudden sputtering and Suralinda mumbled something unintelligible. No answer.

“What should I do? Luke?” Finally, you stood and found the insurgent’s body on the floor close to Fatima. Two shots to the legs, one that clipped his face. When you looked at what was left of it- a pulpy mass of crimson and white that used to be someone’s identity- your stomach twisted and threatened to climb up your esophagus. Turning back to Baaligh, you raised both palms up, to tell him to stay behind the bed. He raised both palms up and wiggles his fingers like sun rays again. Emotion welled up within. This sweet boy. You’d do anything to protect him. “Stay here. I’ll be back. Stay right here.”

You began to cross to the nurses station where the rest of the group had taken cover and turned around, pointing to the floor as Baaligh began to rise up. “No, Bay. Stay here.”

L’ulo was on the floor behind the nurses station, a widening plane of sticky vitality spreading onto his shirt from a hole in his chest. Suralinda’s hands shook as she applied pressure, and a horrified cry broke free as blood gushed up between her fingers. “It’s okay. It’s just like in Afghanistan... L’ulo. Look at me.”

His eyes dimmed, rich Polynesian complexion growing paler and paler by the second. You exchanged a mournful look with Dr. Skywalker as it became clear another life would be claimed. L’ulo coughed faintly and reached toward his friend- Then he was gone. Suralinda gasped in disbelief, then immediately buried her face in Luke’s shoulder as grief began its brutal course. The M9 was still in his hand.

“It’s alright. You’re safe. You’re safe,” you repeated numbly to Baaligh like a protection charm. It didn’t matter that you didn’t believe it. A sea of glass crunched under your heels. Baaligh stood next to the bed, impossibly small in his cornflower blue gown and socks. You sat beside him, facing the wall away from the three mangled bodies. The boy curled into you, needing to be engulfed in comfort as the hospital fell apart around him. He sucked his thumb as you stroked his hair, desperate for contact more intimate than rubber.

Baaligh poked a finger into a slit in the suit and you gently redirected his hand before your eyes widened in realization: the shards of glass had compromised it. Rows of gashes cut into the arm, and the torso had already begun to deflate from the drop in pressure. Upon closer inspection, you found a slow stream of blood down your arm but still hadn’t registered the physical sensation of the cuts.

 _Fuck it,_ you thought. If death was imminent, you might as well give this boy some genuine comfort.

A soft hiss escaped as you broke the seal of the headpiece and set it on the floor next to the bullet-riddled wall. Baaligh looked up with his wet saucer eyes and your gloved hands framed his face. Delicately, you pressed your lips over his left eye. Then his right eye. Then his warm forehead and pulled him closer, tiny face nestled in the crook of your neck just above the stiff neckline of the Tyvek suit. He belonged there, in your arms. “Shhhh... shhhhh... it’s okay sweetheart, I’ve got you,” you whispered, salt from his tears on your lip.

”We have to get out.” Luke’s voice was shaky. “Building’s probably unstable.”

He stepped forward, feet meeting the seam where the glass dividing wall once stood. You were surprised he’d dared to come that close, no doubt risking exposure. Luke’s mouth gently fell open when you stood up without the headpiece of your protective gear and pulled off the rest. Baaligh reached up to be balanced on your hip. “Wha- What are you doing?”

A watery smile played on your lips, edges crumpling as you struggled to maintain composure. “The glass cut my suit. And the wall is gone... What am I supposed to do? I’m not leaving him. I won’t do it.”

Suralinda stayed farther back, her hands still coated in blotches of red as she reached for L’ulo’s camera, which had fallen to the floor. She did the only thing she could give her friend’s death some meaning: tell this story. L’ulo L’ampar was a storyteller. Arranging the heavy device on her shoulder, she hit record.

With a pained expression, Luke lifted both hands. A thousand thoughts flashed in his eyes- guilt and reason and the messy real-life application of ethics. “Stay back. I’m sorry but—“

”I’m staying.” Your voice wavered more than you expected. “We’ll wait it out in Hila’s room.”

Suralinda’s gaze slid to the floor but L’ulo’s camera remained fixed on you and Luke.

“At this point, I’ll be quarantined anyway,” you reasoned. “Might as well stay with them and avoid more exposure.” You knew what happened to most people soon after this point. Now it was a trial of patience to see if it was contagious, with your life in the balance. You stepped forward again, Baaligh’s thin arms tightening around your neckline. Another step, so Luke could make out your sincerity as you stammered out a plea. “Please just do me a favor? Tell Poe. Tell Poe that Baaligh wasn’t alone. Tell him he’s my everything. He needs to hear that, please. My everything. Promise me?”

Hestitant, Luke opened his mouth to reply but couldn’t say anything. He crouched down, labcoat skimming the floor, and slid the Berretta toward you. The gun skid across the floor, parting a sea of glass chips. For a moment you stared at it through misted eyes, then lifted it. The barrel was still warm. Finally he answered, “I will.”

”And tell Poe that I wanted a family with him. That I—“

A burst of firepower ripped through the air, coming from somewhere near the lobby. And you fled.

Maybe it was the warmth of Baaligh’s tear-streaked cheeks against your shoulder, but something deep within you snapped to life. Before your logical brain could stop, your primitive brain seized control. You sprinted down the corridor, instinct driving you toward the pedestrian bridge connecting the secluded WHO building to the rest of the facility. An exit was below, part of a stairwell just on the other side of the bridge.

Survival. Panic and maternal protection overrode the decision you had so firmly made, only moments earlier. Your body simply wouldn’t allow you to stay in place. Baaligh clung on as you navigated past the sharp remnants of the wall, the bodies of your friends, and the monster who took them. Erratic heartbeats thumped in your chest as the shots grew louder. Closer. Your knuckles tightened around the handle of the pistol. Luke and Suralinda ran in the same direction, parallel streaks of abstract color.

It wasn’t far to the bridge.

Beneath your feet, the floor moved abruptly. A fierce wave of heat and wind assaulted your senses. Your body shielded the screaming boy as the blast threw you to your knees. A deep rumble came from the direction of the entrance. You ducked into the closest form of shelter- a small office- and crawled under a desk. Curling around Baaligh, you stroked his wisps of chestnut hair and thought of Poe. Your smartass pilot. Your loving husband. Your everything.


	18. Long As There’s Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amid death and debris, Poe tries desperately to hold onto the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic violence including character death.
> 
> Chapter Soundtrack:
> 
> Blood On Me by Sampha: https://open.spotify.com/track/37el170lJYr5CiWJFk207u?si=LQRqueH7SpaHf2b2uyxiMQ

The world around Poe vibrated with a metallic frequency, pressing in on the sides of his head with a crushing pressure as he came to. A stillness that managed to be almost as frightening as the ring of bullets. It was darker now. So dark. He reached for his phone for some illumination but couldn’t find it in the scatter of debris.

Propping himself up, Poe blinked at the shattered glass on the floor as it split off into a double-vision haze. He snapped his fingers next to his ear, registering almost nothing. Coppery bitterness filled his mouth; he must’ve bitten his tongue as he was thrown from the force of the blast. The cool wall he leaned against was intact, a tempered surface etched with the WHO symbol. As his vision began to rebalance, Poe found the jagged outcropping of broken glass that used to be the corner wall of the first quarantine unit. Smoke shrouded the hallway, obscuring his view any farther. When he looked in the direction of the main entrance, he found the heavy security doors mangled by the blast, smoke pouring in.

How much time had gone by? He reached for his pistol and it wasn’t in his holster or beside him. Poe’s hands fumbled in the meager light.

It was gone. And he was so very vulnerable: unarmed and temporarily deaf.

He staggered to his feet, back and neck crying out in pain from the impact of the explosion. Shards grinding underneath the tread his boots should’ve sounded like gravel, but all was silent, save the droning in his ears. Nothing but debris across the floor, which he quickly turned over in a fruitless search for the weapon. Poe’s heart rate grew frantic.

Cold metal finally met his outstretched fingers in the darkness and he snatched his hand over it, only to find the object was a flashlight instead. Disappointment stabbed at him but the truth was, it was useful. About 10 inches long, the flashlight was substantial in his grip and cast a powerful beam of light into the smoky hallway, still dimly illuminated by a few overhead lights to conserve backup power.

Poe wanted to call out your name, to hear the familiarity of your voice tinged with relief as you called back his. Logic was on the side of silence; he knew even if you called back, he couldn’t follow the sound. And he couldn’t afford to foreit the one advantage he had in the dark by broadcasting his position, in case any insurgents were still clearing the building.

He needed to breathe. To find you. Smoke billowed from the research wing closest to the main hospital. The way he came was engulfed in complete darkness now, maybe the entryway had completely collapsed.

Holding his breath, he passed that wing and approached the quarantine ward. First impressions weren’t good. One quarter of the wall of the was still standing but the rest was missing from the glass front and the entire drywall side begun to crumble. His eyes darted around, landing on the empty brass of bullet casings among the debris. A lumpy form lay on the floor and Poe’s stomach went into a nosedive.

Glass squeaked under his feet, causing him to trip awkwardly as he sprinted closer. Soft lines formed around objects before they multiplied, Poe’s eyes losing focus again as he lost his balance and fell in front of the remaining isolation rooms. One wedge of glass embedded deeply into his left palm as he threw his hands forward to catch himself. He couldn’t even hear the resulting grunt of pain as he pulled it out- it was only felt in his throat.

A spotlight shone across the floor until it landed on a face. Fatima. Her mouth was still open in a silenced scream. Poe backed away, face twisting in horror. He looked up around him, the nurse’s station, the body of man farther down the hall and—

Baaligh’s room. No. No. The last room.

It was wrong. All wrong. This was the farthest from the blast and yet the wall had been obliterated. Trepidation propelled him forward, and Poe called out the boy’s name without thinking. He was terrified of what he might find within the jagged confines of the room, but he had to know. “BAY! Bay! Oh God...”

The circle of light darted around, falling across the monitors and cart of equipment and the little crumpled sheet on the bed. Poe frantically turned over the objects within. Smearing his bloody palm across the room without consideration, he opened every cabinets and pulled the bed out from the corner in an rapid but exhaustive search. Poe stepped behind the bed and felt something move underfoot. The toy airplane. Next to it, more empty brass. Every cell in his body cringed at the hideous juxtaposition. A diagonal stripe of bullets had punctured the remaining wall, apparently what shattered the glass. The door leading into the isolation unit was locked from the patient’s side, meaning Baaligh had either escaped with the broken divider or had been led out beforehand.

Poe darted back out and did a quick survey of the remaining rooms where Hila and the older boy were treated- both also empty. Relief washed over him, and Poe let out a shaky exhalation at the realization that you’d been there. They weren’t left behind.

Still dizzy, he stole a roll of gauze and wound it around the gash in his non-dominant hand as he tried to formulate a plan. The entryway didn’t look like a viable escape route, nor the corridor running along the edge of the building. Smoke was dense there, light scarce or absent. Vaguely, Poe remembered a time he used a pedestrian bridge to cross between the cafeteria and the WHO building- it could be a way out now. A blur of movement caught his eye and Poe stood flush against the remaining solid sidewall of the room.

An insurgent in dark clothes was walking back toward the other corridor. He passed under a flickering fluorescent light and Poe could just make out the bayonet tip of the rifle at his side.

Poe could really use one of those namesake miracles about now. Heart in a freefall, he fully understood his disadvantages. Eyes narrowing, he inched closer with as much stealth as he could manage, improvised weapon in his white-knuckled grasp.

Acting on sheer survival instinct, Poe charged out of the darkness with a bestial shout. He swung at the man’s head. It connected with a thud. Disoriented by the blow, he fell backward and dropped the weapon. Poe jumped on top of him as he man’s hands scrambled for it. Poe’s wide, bloodied palm braced his chest down as the enemy fought to get up. A hand wound around a large chunk of glass and he swiped at Poe’s forearm. All his body weight dug into the man’s torso now, both knees and his wounded palm pushing hard. Another blow.

Another.

An fierce war-cry.

Another.

A crunch of bone.

Even through the smoke, the scent of blood was unmistakable. The body under Poe’s knees twitched and rattled in an unnerving manner, and his eyes pinched closed for the final strike. Stillness. He felt death claim the terrorist, a disturbingly intimate sensation. Sweat dripped into Poe’s eyes when he dared open them, salt compounding the sting of smoke. Chest heaving, Poe blinked at the tile next to the body for a few moments, where drops of blood fell from the man’s saturated beard. He didn’t want to shine the light at what remained of his face.

No pride was found in this, no ego; the preservation of life can drive a man to do ugly things. Fear drove this. Love drove this. It was precisely because he loved you so much that he was consumed by fear that your light would be extinguished. The world needed your light. He needed it.

 _Focus on the light, Dameron_.

Poe grabbed the rifle, which had slid across the floor during the fight. Staggering to his feet again, he lifted a blanket from Baaligh’s bed. He wiped the gore from the business end of the flashlight on the fitted sheet and made a point to not look at that either, then propped against the supply cart as he sloppily wound more gauze around the fresh series of gashes in his left forearm. Exhaustion began to wear Poe down. He stashed a couple capped scalpels in his pocket, useful as a backup weapon. With a pang of guilt, he approached Fatima’s body and covered her with the thin, white cloth.

Another quick scan of the hallway revealed a dark shape extending out from the floor behind the nurses station.

Adrenaline infused his body. He’d just made a lot of noise in the scuffle, and if it was an attacker they’d have executed him by now- but it was someone who needed help, they might’ve been asking and he couldn’t understand. Poe muttered a half-assed prayer and approached along the other side, back against the station as he crouched low. L’ulo’s body came into view, terra cotta skin riddled with a splatter of vermillion. Poe winced. So much death in this place.

POPOPOP

The jarring sound cut through the hollow metallic hum. Distant screams accompanied it. Poe wondered if it was a hallucination or if he was recovering his sense of hearing- he hoped for the latter. Two scalpels and a flashlight in his pocket, a Type 56 rifle aloft in his quivering hands.

Poe squinted at the dim corridor stretching ahead. He could really use that miracle about now.

He could hear. Voices began to pierce through the static. Muffled and distorted but real. Bodies began to take shape, tearful faces and scrambling legs. A couple clasped hands, the father carrying a young girl as they sprinted toward him. The mother let out a petrified gasp as she saw Poe, and he lowered his weapon immediately with a sorrowful frown. He darted into the crowd against the flow of survivors as another series of shots and screams rang out. The sound was clearer this time.

Faces. Terrified faces. He searched for yours like a sailor searching for a lighthouse through the fog. But he was sinking. Heavier. Lower. He couldn’t find the light. Only strangers. Only darkness.

”POE?!”

Luke all but slammed into his chest and Poe jerked in astonishment. “Where is she?!”

”Run!” Suralinda shouted as another crash happened somewhere behind her toward the cafeteria. More people streamed from there, and Poe complied. Together they ran back toward the quarantine ward, finding the first door as others branched off. He slammed it behind them, locking it swiftly. Luke crouched against a desk and fought to draw clean air into his lungs. Suralinda stooped low, crawling on hands and knees to hide behind it.

Roaring erupted, tremors rocking the floor again. The computer monitor knocked over onto the desk, a framed photograph leaped off the wall and smashed to the floor below. Poe’s adrenaline skyrocketed and he moved the strap of the Type 56 so it lay flat against his sweat-soaked back. 

Suralinda still carried the bulky camera, recording every scream, every shaky step. Poe trained his weapon on the door as it rattled against the blast and demanded an answer again, “Where is she?!”

“Stay back!” A voice came from behind the desk. Your face and shoulders emerged first, then Baaligh grasping onto your hip. His jaw dropped, tears springing from his eyes as he took in your weary face.

Mach 2 wouldn’t have been fast enough to get him to you. He started to pounce onto the desk, propelled by the need to confirm that you were real in front of him- not a dying-breath hallucination or a desert mirage. Your pleas didn’t register until he was almost touching your outstretched palm. Poe halted, perplexed. Luke and Suralinda were now on the other side of the room, crouched low but backs against the wall.

“Please! You have to, just listen to me please!”

”Stop!” Suralinda interjected with a hissing whisper. “Don’t get close to them.”

”Corazón?” Poe pushed farther and you let out a sob that curdled his blood. “What’s wrong?”

Backing up a couple steps, you extended a hand in front of your chest. The boy on your hip looked shell-shocked. Poe watched your lip tremble, felt the words catch in your throat from where he stood. “Do it for him! Just—“

”What is it?!”

”Stay back!” You blubbered. His hand pressed against the wooden surface, closer, in an instinct to comfort you.

Luke attempted to diffuse the situation. “Poe. It might be contagious...”

Poe nodded. “We need to—“

”You need to stay alive for him. Poe.. I... wanted us to be a family... if you adopt Bay—”

His face fell. You were saying goodbye. You were saying goodbye and he couldn’t say goodbye to you again. “We need to get out of here, the roof—“

”GET BACK!” You shrieked as Poe stepped closer, and Bay let out a fearful wail. He froze and you began to break down. “My suit ripped and his room was breached. I’m...”

Somehow, it hadn’t even registered with him. Poe’s mind had been so occupied with the immediate threat of bullets and explosions that he didn’t realize the true implication of Baaligh’s quarantine unit being open. Of a slow death. Of you being infected. Poe’s eyes searched yours, refusing to believe it was true. He swiveled to Luke and Suralinda, each face filled with turmoil. Afraid to be close to you. How could he come this far and still lose? It was unfathomable.

”But if you adopt him, you can sign him up for the trials and then maybe he can leave this place. Have a chance to be a normal kid,” you tearfully explained, “but that can’t happen if you’re infected, too. So stay back.”

”Are you okay? Is Baaligh okay?” Poe furrowed his brow as he looked at you from across the desk. You might as well have been on the other side of the ocean again, but he didn’t notice any immediate concerns. You gave a sad shrug.

“Are you hurt?” The question was cautious as you scanned his injuries. Poe’s clothes were filthy, curls were slick with perspiration, forehead smeared with a rust colored trail from his cheek, crude bands of gauze around his hand and forearm. Saint Joseph gleamed at the hollow of Poe’s throat, as always, and you found a darkness in the eyes that had nothing to do with the low light.

“I’m fine,” he answered, but clearly you weren’t convinced. “Where are the other kids?”

Luke stiffened in Poe’s peripheral vision, a detail that didn’t go unnoticed. It was easy enough to deduce what that meant. Then you nearly crumbled. “I was supposed to stay behind.”

Stunned, Poe turned to the guilt-laden faces of your companions.

“It wasn’t the original plan,” you defended before he could say anything “I hid them in the ducts, because we don’t know if they’ll infect the whole hospital—“

”The building is collapsing!” Poe interrupted. “What do you mean infect?!”

”—But I knew Bay wouldn’t stay on his own, so when the wall came down I was gonna take him in with Hila and wait there.”

”She never wanted to leave them,” Suralinda spoke up. The camera was still rolling, propped up on an overturned chair as she worked. “But before the room was breeched, it was the most responsible thing to do.”

“What happened?”

”Another shooter came through and we ran. Bay was still in my arms, the panel had just broken and my suit was breeched. I just... ran...” Your expression twisted in shame. “Poe, I left them... but by the time I realized what was happening—“

”This isn’t your fault,” Luke assured. “That was just fight or flight. We know you meant to stay.”

“I can go,” Poe volunteered. “Right now.”

“No! I need you to stay healthy,” you reminded him. “Poe. I know you’d never leave anyone behind but promise me you’re not gonna do anything reckless.”

There was that word again. Poe stopped and stood before you but didn’t approach. His gaze was fixed, strong and honest as the magnolia  trees on the Dameron family farm. “I was already in his room.”

” _No!_ ” you rasped against the noxious air.

Poe hopped over the desk, sliding across the wood on one thigh. His arms locked around you in an instant. The imminent threat of collapse was literally hanging over your heads- but he needed this. “We stick together. No matter what, right?” he asked, eyes shimmering even in the dimness. “I’m not giving up on you. We’re walking outta here side-by-side or I’m carrying you out.”

There was no doubt that was true.

Soot and tears streaked his face as he pressed his forehead against yours, whispering declarations of love he simply HAD to make and assurances of safety he really shouldn’t. Maybe you were both doomed, but that wasn’t a guarantee. Maybe you and Poe were both infected, there was no way to know for sure at this point. What Poe did know was that he wasn’t quite broken yet. He wasn’t shattered ceramic, but holding you both made him feel whole anyway. The final ribbon of gold lacquer around the last shard, the final step in the transformation into something new. “You... you wanna adopt him? Did I hear that right?”

Your smile was watery, bottom lip quivering in emotion. It wasn’t gold, but it might was infinitely more precious: the smile rekindled his hope. It’s the light he looked to when darkness threatened his optimism. “I was gonna ask what you thought.”

“YES!” Poe blurted emphatically, kissing the boy’s curved forehead and holding you closer. He held both arms out to Poe, and was promptly scooped up and cradled tightly on his own. Bay squealed in joyful surprise at the affection. “Baaligh, we wanna be a family. Your family.”

He turned to you with an exhausted expression, face illuminated with hope after hours of trepidation and terror. He wasn’t ready to let go of hope, not after everything. Then you kissed him. Sweeter than dulce de leche. Full of relief and sorrow and gratitude and, most of all, adoration. Love. When you broke apart, his mouth twitched in a small smile. He smeared of blot of soot from your cheek with a thumb as you looked deep into his eyes. “You’re my everything.”

“Eres mi todo,” Poe repeated back in his family’s mother tongue. “It’s gonna be okay.” And, somehow in the midst of the Hellscape around you, he actually believed it. But first he needed to get you and the kids clear of the hospital.

“I’m not letting you go alone,” you promised, gripping Poe’s arm. “I wanna make this right.”

Luke and Suralinda stood together in tearful witness. The man stepped forward, “Me too.”

Suralinda flipped a beaded braid of out of her face. “I’m in.”

Poe gave a grim nod. He didn’t appreciate the camera in his face during one of the most emotionally charged moments of his life, but he was determined to stay focused.

“We can’t stay here any longer,” Poe announced, wiping moisture from his brow with the back of his crude bandage. He gestured toward the door and raised the rifle he picked off the insurgent. “I’m assuming that was the bridge that just went down. And the lobby’s toast. Any other exit that’s not down that main stairwell?”

Luke coughed, “There’s another stairwell there, leading down to management parking, if you follow it all the way, there’s a private exit. It’s our best bet.”

When the sounds outside faded to silence, Poe cracked the office door open. He’d have to protect you now. As suspected, the pedestrian bridge was destroyed in the last blast, isolating the WHO facility completely. Down the murky hallway he walked ahead, barrel of the rifle parting the heavy smoke with each step. Luke covered you from behind using your M9, and Suralinda carried the camera on her shoulder as Baaligh’s weight settled around your waist. The flashlight Poe had been carrying was in your hands now, punching through the darkness of the foreboding corridor.

Finally, the group arrived. Glass cracked underfoot and Poe mentally cursed the hospital’s architect. “Bay shouldn’t see this.”

”I know. L’ulo and Fatima didn’t make it.” You had already begun drawing your labcoat up to cover Baaligh’s face as you approached the figures on the floor among the casings. Stepping over the jagged edge of the glass divider, you stooped to pick up the plastic airplane.

“Who’s that?” Suralinda stopped, sucking in a shocked gasp as her burning eyes and camera lens landed on the fourth body- the body that wasn’t there last time. It didn’t take a scientist to speculate the source of the blood splatter on Poe’s shirt as he yanked another sheet from the bed of Baaligh’s room and covered the body before standing guard in the hallway.

”One of them,” Poe answered without elaboration.

Luke waved his keycard over the panel and you entered the first room with Nasir. He quickly unscrewed the vent cover and motioned the scared teen to come down. Nasir was weak but able to steady himself. The air inside his room was still fresh, thanks to the compartmentalized duct work protecting it from filling with smoke.

“Hila!” you cried as the vent cover came off and Luke helped her down from her hiding spot. The girl was shocked to see you and Luke both in her room- each without a Tyvek biohazard suit. You began to reach for your phone to explain through the translation app and realized it was missing, likely dropped sometime in the scramble. Hila seemed unsure but you embraced her tightly. “Amina.” _Safe_.

The doors opened and Nasir and Hila left their quarantine rooms for the first time in three months. Nasir clasped hands with Suralinda and Hila held tight onto you.

Luke and Poe exchanged a nod, and you moved as a unit again toward the exit. Down another corridor, winding deep into an area you’d never visited. “The farthest wall is... was... all glass,” Luke explained. “So we should be see a little light from outside.”

Poe followed a twinkle of light, letting the last of the dying sun guide them toward safety. It was Polaris. Hope. _Long as there’s light, we’ve got a chance,_ he thought to himself.

The width of the sliver of light varied strangely, the deeper you ventured into the debris-littered passage. Baaligh coughed in the dust and smoke; Poe didn’t want to think about what his fragile body was taking in through the toxic air. Pushing aside chunks of drywall and light fixtures with the help of Luke and Linda, Poe was grateful this part of the building was comprised of far less glass. One section became especially narrow and the waning evening light fought to slip through the contents of what used to be a supply closet. Singed and half-smoldering boxes had tumbled into the corridor. Poe stomped out the warm residual glow of cardboard.

 _Just two drifters, off to see the world_  
_There’s such a lot of world to see_

Baaligh sniffed on your hip and you swayed gently as Poe worked, singing “Moon River” to calm the boy. The same song Poe had sung to you as you lie in a hospital bed some two years earlier, recovering from losing your daughter. It felt surreal to see a toddler in your arms now, considering the events which passed between that memory and this moment. Poe opened his mouth to say something and found himself speechless.

Head hung low, your palm cupped the nape of Baaligh’s neck just under a soft cowlick. Hila leaned against you. Suralinda walked around the area, making sure to document the destruction before setting it down temporarily to assist Nasir. He squeezed through the narrow passage first, holding the flashlight, then Hila. Linda followed, taking Baaligh for a moment before you and Poe twisted in. Luke was coughing more now, strained capillaries tinting his eyes red. Poe could just make out the color in the low light. He wheezed and waved Poe to go ahead, while handing back your Berretta.

Closer now. The beacon grew larger. 

Faint light expanded in the dismal space, setting floating dust particles aglow. Crumbled wall proved frustrating to climb over, especially with the ill children. Poe carried Hila on his back through it. A distant, whooshing beat moved overhead, which Poe recognized as the blade of a helicopter. Maybe more than one. His mouth twitched in a hopeful smile as he extended his arm out to steady you. He kissed the center of Baaligh’s forehead once you made it to the other side of the rubble pile and the boy leaned into his touch. “As long as there’s light, we’ve got a chance.”

Closer.

Bits of metal and glass began to stud the debris, among the fallen lights and charred drywall. Suralinda kicked it to the side, one hand holding onto Nasir. Luke used his prosthetic to handle some of the sharper bits as he cleared a pathway. Carefully, enough room was made to reveal that the entire side had been demolished with one of the blasts. The evening sky was finally visible in shades of fading persimmon and blush against the rebar and shattered tile. And that was Poe’s reality in Doha, wasn’t it? Beauty in the sky, destruction on the ground.

Just before the floor jutted out into the space above the employee garage, there was a metal door with keycard entry to the stairwell down. A few cars were visible from Poe’s vantage point, their hoods bathed in a shatter of glass from the adjacent wall but the main concrete structure of the garage remained intact. 

“Is it stable enough?” Luke asked, handing Poe his access card. 

“Think so.” Poe squinted at the wreckage that used to the corner of the building. “I’ll go first, make sure the stairs are clear.”

Locking eyes with you a wordless moment, he mouthed your name amid the heat and the hum of helicopter blades and veil of smoke in the air. He mouthed the mantra of love you shared as you stood trembling, dirty white coat and destroyed shoes, a crying toddler sniffling at your side. Then he pressed the keycard and opened the stairwell door quietly as possible. Light was only provided by a series of tiny windows and an exit sign in the cinderblock stairwell, but it was there. It forced Poe to use touch to guide his descent, his elbow grazing the rail to keep him grounded. The bayonet tip of the rifle in his hands was barely visible. 

White light.  

Pain shot through the side of his face, knocking him into the rail. He felt the weapon slip from his grasp over the rail, clattering to the floor below as he let out a grunt. Poe scrambled to his feet, retaliating with a right hook. It connected with brute, panicked force, knocking the insurgent against a wall. He wrapped around Poe, dragging him down too. 

The sharp angles of the stairs dug into Poe’s back as they tumbled, and he pushed his hand into the man’s throat. Teeth bared, Poe tightened his grip as the man’s weight bore down on his chest. Thick hands wrapped around Poe’s neck and although he kicked, his body was pinned under the muscular man. Darkness. Fear. Survival.

Another second of oxygen used. Another. 

Poe thrashed up and forward, arms a belligerent whirl. He shouted before he was shoved backward against the steps. An arm twisted behind him, pinned down and grinding against the shoulder socket and elbow. Primal terror soaked through his body as it screamed for oxygen. A sharp, tearing pain. Ripping pain. 

The scalpels.

In final desperation, he reached for the surgical tools in his shirt pocket with his free hand but was stopped by meaty fingers encircling his wrist. The man shifted, shoving his knee into Poe’s stomach as he positioned himself better. A fist swung back, and Poe fought to free his pinned arm. 

POPOPPOP

Noise banged and amplified in the narrow space, and every one of Poe’s muscles contracted at the sharpness. His eyes sprung open to find the terrorist slumping back limply. He swayed once and collapsed against the wall. In shock, Poe reached for the rail and pulled himself out from under the body. 

“POE!” Hair wild, you ran down the stairs, carrying the Berretta M9 and threw yourself at your husband. He flinched as you touched his shoulder, and your hand snapped back, suddenly afraid that you’d hurt him more. Toggling the safety back on, you tucked the pistol into the waistband of your work trousers. The heated barrel seared the delicate skin and you yelped. Saving his life didn’t necessarily mean you had much gun sense, and Poe’s hand instinctively went to your stomach before he slipped it into his holster. “You okay?”

His arms couldn’t hold you tight enough- even with his spine reeling from the edge of the steps and the grind in his shoulder. He didn’t want to tell you how much this hurt. Not now.  Poe sighed in disbelief then he got another jolt of fear. “Where’s Bay?”

“Right here,” Suralinda answered. Baaligh’s face was buried in her skirt, and Nasir held hands with Hila.

Luke’s face flashed with relief as the sound of another helicopter intensified overhead. With some assistance from him, Poe was guided out to the front of the building. Qatari SWAT, a bomb squad, Doha police force in full gear were already on-site, and the group lifted their hands as an EMT ran across the grass to assist. The sun had finally retreated past the horizon and night took claim of the desert. Most of the hospital was standing, from what Poe could see as he stumbled into a waiting ambulance. 

Soon, you, Poe and Baaligh were under a shiny foil shock blanket on a street curb a few blocks over where a makeshift triage had been established. Luke and Suralinda had less interaction with the quarantine patients but they were being treated separately from th the older children until a consensus could be agreed upon on how to limit any exposure. Now you clung to each other as a unit- exhausted and numb and still shaking- and waited, fully expecting to be confined to quarantine yourselves. From there, only time would tell. 

A swarm of police choppers buzzed overhead and Poe remembered Black Squadron’s mission. Brow furrowed, he instinctively searched the sky for the familiar blink of lights although logically he didn’t expect to see them. Guilt twisted in his chest. He was supposed to help stop this. It was too late. 

“I thought I lost you,” you confided, nose against his as Bay snuggled into your lap. The Mylar texture of the blanket crinkled with the movement. Moisture pooled in your eyes but didn’t fall yet. There would be plenty of time to cry and process later. Poe’s hand interlaced with yours, both marked by dozens of tiny abrasions from the debris and glass. Together they enclosed the boy in a fortress of safety. 

“Corazón... You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

The weak smile he conjured was strange on his blood-smeared and soot-blackened face, but somehow it was pure Poe. You examined him as Baaligh yawned and burrowed deeper into the warmth of his torso. Poe blinked back at you and took your face in his hands. Slowly, he laid a gentle kiss over your left eyelid. Then, again, a gentle kiss over your right eyelid. He waited a moment, savoring the intimacy of your forehead against his, then he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. 

Sometimes families are born of brokenness. Maybe that’s exactly what family was: the glue that held broken people together, making them stronger. Precious. A kind of small miracle.


	19. Helium - NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forced into quarantine following exposure, you and Poe are separated from Baaligh yet again. With the future uncertain, family and friends come together in support.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy, tender smut in this chapter!
> 
> Chapter Soundtrack:
> 
> “Moon In Your Mouth” by Goldfrapp: https://open.spotify.com/track/43VFq0rSk3AK5EiqVSPYap?si=xjT_-axaTDWRdqnlfCwz4Q

Adrenaline swirled in Poe’s mind, perfume lingering in the air after his close flirtation with Death. Hours later it had grown stale, acting as a pollutant rather than a propellant. He simply didn’t have the energy for another fight.

“C'mon, man. If you had hours to live, wouldn’t you wanna be in the arms of the person you love?” Poe appealed to the nurse with exasperation through a small window in the door. It was the closest thing you had to a view from the makeshift quarantine in the Al Udeid hospital’s Intensive Care- nothing like the vast plates of glass in the dedicated containment ward of the WHO building, but the cramped room Poe had been assigned to share with you was better than the alternative.

About an hour ago, Poe had been admonished by a staff member for spooning in your bed together.

“It’s not about that, Captain.” The nurse straightened his posture, apparently offended by the suggestion that he’d bother you over something so trivial. “I wanted to tell you that Commander Wexley will be by after the debrief.”

Poe’s shoulders abandoned some of their defensive tension. “Thank you for being so kind to us.”

“You’re welcome, sir. You’re a hero.”

“My wife worked at the lab.” _One of those children is our son_. “Believe me, she’s the hero.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Captain. I saw the video. Everyone has and we all agree. We don’t care what they say—“

“Wait. What video?”

Cell footage of the attack had appeared on Al Jazeera first, going viral immediately. The nurse explained that it showed Poe taking out one of the terrorists from behind a bush before darting inside the WHO facility, shortly before the explosion destroyed the lobby. It was controversial: an off-duty American service member firing a weapon during a civilian attack. Most news outlets avoided calling Poe a hero, and backlash was instant, but overall people lauded his bravery and credited him with saving lives.

An aggressive and disorienting interrogation had been Poe’s welcome upon arrival back to Al Udeid. Halfway through a tense line of questioning over the timeline of events, the MPs left and returned seemingly satisfied with all of Poe’s answers. The video apparently corroborated his testimony, though Poe wondered what would come of the footage L’ulo recorded before his death, what Suralinda had captured after- if the greater story of the attack would be lost, like so many lives buried in the rubble. Exhausted following the questioning, Poe was glad to be reunited with you, even though it was in a sealed room. Closed in on all sides and guarded around the clock, the ICU would be your new indefinite home, thanks to Qatari law about quarantine after exposure to the pathogen.

Through the glass, Poe thanked the nurse for the heads up- he’d been concerned about Black Squadron’s mission all night- then joined you on the edge of the bed. Tearful FaceTime calls to family were made once things settled down. Aunt Leia prayed the Rosary. Lando sobbed. The number your mother called from recently was disconnected, so you recorded a video for her and sent it to Lando- who sobbed again.

“No one’s died from secondhand exposure yet… at least not that we know of,” you’d reminded everyone multiple times. And that offered hope a wide margin to work with.

Poe guarded that flicker of hope, cupped hands acting as a shield against the grim circumstances. He held onto his faith. He gnawed the inside of his cheek raw. Picked his cuticles. Each emotion another color in the complicated aurora of his mind. Nothing was held back that night- there wasn’t enough time to, if the worst was to come. Confessions were whispered into your skin, of his still-classified kill over the Iraqi desert, about what happened before he found you in the hospital. About his regrets. About what he’d do if you were somehow promised another tomorrow.

Tomorrow. You could get there together, if you just kept following the light.

Bandaged arm across your chest, Poe began to slip into the welcoming darkness of sleep. Just as it embraced him, he roused himself again and again, fueled into a few more minutes of consciousness when he remembered the threat looming overhead. He was a man afraid to shut his eyes, fearing what would meet him if they closed, yet far more terrified of what might be gone if they opened.

Fingers wrapped absentmindedly around the tubing for the saline drip leading into your arm. You muttered over the relative quiet of beeping monitors, “He’s alone... Baaligh’s alone again after all this. In a new place, with strangers, he must be terrified.”

”I just hope they kept the kids together, like us. We’re gonna keep trying—“

”Even if we’re not infected, we’re still quarantined. I don’t think you understand… We’re trapped. We can’t do much of anything.”

”He’s not alone... he can’t be. No one would do that to a little kid who just survived an attack? What did they do when he arrived after losing his parents?” Baaligh and Poe had been separated in a devastating scene. Arms flailing, the boy kicked against the paramedic charged to transport the children to another hospital. Finally, Hila had calmed him, but Poe was haunted by reddened eyes watching from the window of the ambulance.

“We didn’t have enough rooms so they shared them. It was awful, Luke warned me to stay away. There’s a lot of...” You didn’t want to say it. “It’s messy. We lost a lot of patients in the first days.”

”So Bay was with other kids?”

”Only for a short time. Fatima would suit up, go in and hold him in her lap. She spoke to him in Arabic but his speech is so garbled that she couldn’t really tell if he spoke it. Maybe his parents spoke to him in another language.”

Half the friends you’d made in Qatar were gone, he realized, staring at the smears of ash in the shape of miniature hands across your shoulders. “I’m really sorry about Fatima. And L’ulo.”

“Everything happened so fast...” Tucking your head against his chest, the words came out in pulpy bits. “I couldn’t protect him...”

Recognizing that feeling all too well, Poe blurted out a rebuttal. “Those kids are alive because of you.”

Tears misted in his eyes as your tone shifted. “Poe. What if we don’t make it? Baaligh won’t understand if we don’t come back for him. And can you imagine? Losing everyone, all the adults in his life?”

”We are. Look at me. We’re gonna walk out of here, finish the paperwork and take care of him. I know we are, ‘cause we’re a team.” Poe brushed a rogue clump of hair out of your eyes. Though clouded by worry, they still contained his whole world. “Right?”

”Salt and pepper,” you answered with a weak smile.

”And a Bay leaf,” Poe added. You groaned. “See? You gotta stay alive. Who else is gonna put up with my terrible jokes?”

Poe raised the thin blanket up around your shoulders. He refused to believe destiny would pull away that which he wanted most, just as it finally moved into reach and his fingers brushed it. For you to decide to adopt a child in desperate need, only for one or all of you to perish. He rejected that. Instead he chose to focus on the minute details of your face, lovely even under the cast of the fluorescent light. How delicate your hands were, despite the dust wedged under your nails from clearing paths through debris.

It had been a long night, to say the least, and Poe Dameron was going to hold his wife. Maybe for the last time. It was worth holding on to every second of the light.

 

————

 

Lifting your phone up, you paced the hospital room in search of a stronger signal. Damage to the cell towers had made communication hit-or-miss. Luke’s beard was denser than usual, even when slightly pixelated in the FaceTime app, but now his face was arrested on the display as his voice carried on, “They’re all together, don’t worry. They’re okay.”

“Oh,” you breathed in relief. “Good to hear that.”

On the floor, Poe stopped in the middle of a push-up. Inactivity never came naturally, and claustrophobia only exacerbated his restlessness. His jaw worked on a gob of cinnamon-flavored nicotine gum as he listened intently.

Luke’s voice was distant and tinny over the phone’s speaker. “Stockholm team’s been working on the gene therapy. Dr. Mothma’s getting approval now to run the trials through the new hospital. Should be ready to start by the end of the week.”

”We were worried about that.” Squeezing Poe’s hand, your voice softened. “...And what about Bay?”

“She says he’s still on the antiviral,” Luke explained, adding that Hila and Nasir would continue their dialysis and wait. Baaligh still couldn’t get approval for anything stronger, but thankfully he didn’t need dialysis yet. Hila’s and Nasir’s families were at the new hospital, you were relieved to learn.

Dr. Mothma had immediately taken to advocating on the behalf of the children in the clinical trials, as well as everyone added to quarantine after the bombing. She coordinated care across two more hospitals because neither was large enough to accommodate the full influx of quarantined patients. Suralinda and Luke went to one location, while the kids were sent to another.

“Sure you’re okay?” you asked cautiously, remembering the rattle in Luke’s chest the night of the attack.

”Fine so far, I promise. Just some smoke inhalation. And nothing for either of you?”

Three days was the typical life expectancy after firsthand exposure to the raw pathogen. Whether it was communicable secondhand was a mystery. After you’d survived the first night, Poe convinced himself the worst wouldn’t happen. And it didn’t. No symptoms. Add that to the list of miracles; at this point he’d lost count.

“Just cabin fever.”

“I’d still like to help you adopt Baaligh, if that’s what you want.”

Craning his head to fit into the FaceTime screen, Poe answered, “Anything you could do, Dr. Skywalker, we’d certainly appreciate it.”

”Okay,” Luke smiled. “First things first: Qatar’s quarantine law. Suralinda has a lot of influence, and there’s talk of revision, changing it from indefinite quarantine after exposure to release after 6 symptom-free weeks in quarantine after exposure.”

Six weeks. Poe’s stomach did a barrel roll at the prospect.

“Does Bay have that kind of time?” you asked. “I just think it’s better if we focus on just getting him treatment first since international adoptions are—“

”What?” His stomach flopped in the other direction.

”Arduous.” You didn’t want to fight in front of your boss but you had to be pragmatic about where the energy was directed. “It takes so long to—“

“I’ll fight! I’m not gonna stop just because it’s gonna take long. You know I’m impatient, but I waited almost ten years to become a pilot. Hell, I didn’t meet you ‘til I was 29.... It’ll happen if we just keep going and keep believing—“

”I know that.” A soothing hand brushed across his arm. “But first we fight for his life. Then we fight for his home. Our focus has to be his waiver to join the trials. This... isn’t about not wanting to wait.”

Reluctantly, Poe agreed to shift the focus away from guardianship toward petitioning for Baaligh to be included in the gene therapy trials. Luke concurred and promised to speak to his contacts again. Off-screen, a nurse entered Luke’s room and he bid you goodbye.

Days stretched on. No windows, no outside light. Routines began to form around shift changes- not that they did much beyond checking vitals and delivering trays of cafeteria slop. Suralinda’s translator helped you navigate the Qatari Family Court, who handled Baaligh’s guardianship. Nights were punctuated by vivid memories where Poe searched for sensory input to convince his brain that this hospital wasn’t crumbling. 

You and Poe weren’t sick, simply stuck.

Another week went by without any symptoms. Poe joked that it was anti-climactic. Optimism had been the helium keeping you both afloat as the passing of time threatened to drag you down. The little boy with a high, round forehead and eyes like binary stars stayed in your thoughts, his absence in your life already a painful phantom limb. You waited.

News of Suralinda’s quarantine and L’ulo L’ampar’s death rocked the media alongside the controversy surrounding Poe. Fellow journalists flocked to the Doha hospital where she and Luke were held, in support and in search of a story. Pressure mounted against the Qatari government to adjust the quarantine law, aided by an updated profile for the contaminant.

One afternoon, when you were brushing up on your Arabic DuoLingo lessons and Poe was flipping through channels on the TV at the foot of the bed, he stopped with a groan. All week he’d been smeared on TV and social media, but Poe tried to take it in stride. Accused of being an instigator. Bloodthirsty. Some attacks skewed into the bizarre: an entire YouTube community was convinced Poe was an actor and that the entire attack was staged propaganda. One article suggested he was a co-conspirator to the terrorists, even. Insulting his character didn’t mean much, because Poe knew who he was: a fighter pilot, a husband, a patriot. Poe knew who he wanted to become: a father.

Going after his family was where Poe drew the line. He turned up the volume and scowled at the screen.

“What’s— Oh,” you peeped. Leia Organa herself was on CNN, slivering hair in elegant braids, being descended on by a pushy trio of reporters as she climbed the steps of the House of Representatives. If anyone could handle herself, it was his aunt, but a flare of protectiveness lit within Poe.

Quickly calculating the time difference, he reached for his phone. “I’m so sorry. You didn’t have to be interviewed, I would’ve understood—“

”I’m proud to come to your defense,” Leia dismissed his apology warmly. “Eventually they were going to figure out we’re related, you know. Questions about family are always on the table.”

”I don’t want this to eclipse your campaign.” Poe’s chest ached to see her ambushed like that, grilled on everything from foreign policy to military budgets to gun control based on her association with the infamous, grainy footage of the attack.

“I’m telling the truth. Now they’re gonna take me out of context, exaggerate and spin and look for a narrative when there isn’t one. But I know the person you are.” Leia faltered a moment, clearly wanting to reach through the FaceTime window to smother her nephew in a hug. “Don’t worry too much about the news, ok? They create these slants but that’s not you. It’s... well, I’m going to sound like a delusional, sociopathic tangerine saying this... just fake news.”

Shooting you a wry side-eye as you stifled a laugh, Poe snorted, “In this case it is fake news, though. It’s not a delusion if you know they’re all actually lying about you!”

”Oh sweetie,” Leia cooed in jest, “If I didn’t know any better and I listened to those idiots, I’d suspect you’re just as egotistical as—“

“How dare you compare my selfless, heroic, handsome, decent husband to that... that…”

Poe lifted a single finger in a playful ‘ _shhh_ ’ gesture and warned you, “Don’t say anything that might keep us in here longer, Corazón. I hear they give time off for good behavior.”

“If that’s the case then we’re screwed,” you teased.

“Dameron-Organas never lose their sense of humor,” Leia smirked before wrapping the conversation. “I’m looking out for you two. And I don’t think it’ll be too much longer.”

She was right; it wasn’t long after that.

The day Snap showed up about four weeks later, Poe had been thinking of a red shouldered hawk rehabilitated by his dad when he was a teenager. Kes nursed her back to health, but in eagerness to fly again, she damaged her fractured wing further before she was ready. She stayed in a cage weeks longer, gaining strength and resolve. Poe admired her fighting spirit, and when she’d healed enough for release, her crimson eye paused on him. Freedom within reach at last, the bird took a reverent first step out of an old carrier before disappearing past the peach groves. Relief, daresay gratitude even, were in that round pupil.

Poe’s gentle singing joined in with the beeping of monitors and the medley of voices just outside the locked room. Chunks of lyrics came to him, but his songwriting abilities were stunted without his guitar. Crisp raps against the window in the door interrupted his caramel voice, and Poe rushed over, grinning at the sight of his commander.

”Still singing?”

”Keep a bird in a cage, he’s still bound to sing,” Poe shrugged, trying to control his anticipation. With his onyx curls growing dense and springy, he did have a certain rockstar quality to him. 

“We could get you a little bell and a swing. Keep your simple ass occupied.”

Eyebrow devilishly quirked, Poe shot a glance your way. “What kinda swing?”

In punishment for his innuendo, Poe was quickly assaulted by a pillow which flew across the room accompanied by the sound of a loud scoff. Chuckling, Snap held a sealed envelope up to the narrow pane of glass. “Ready to stretch your wings... before you get in too much trouble?”

“Don’t mess with me, Snap,” Poe joked. Temporary incarceration was a nightmare. “That better be what I think it is.”

“Black Squadron’s been counting down the days ‘til we get our star back.”

“Wait.” Eyes widening, your heart began to soar. “Does this mean?”

He wanted to howl and drop to his knees.

He wanted to run the dusty length of the base and back, fast as his legs could go.

He wanted to hiss a ‘yes’ through clenched teeth as he watched the stockpile of weapons burn from the cockpit of his F-16. From 45,000 feet, almost everything felt manageable- but being on the ground, being in a box was a lesson in humility. He may not have the power to control everything, but Poe had a responsibility to use the power he had for good.

Air siphoned from Poe’s lungs as his head bobbed in disbelief. It was over. As he processed the information, you tackled him in an enthusiastic hug. Poe’s mouth tugged upward into a full, beaming smile.

It was over.

Thrown forward by a burst of pure relief, Poe let out a joyful “Whoooooo!” extending his arms as he swung you around. You squealed in response, and he attacked your mouth with a kiss that was at first a string of pecks interrupted by giggles and hoots, growing softer as he lifted you just off the floor. A few inches off the ground. A mile straight up in the air. So this was what the hawk felt. Poe pulled away in a daze. “We’re going home, Corazón!”

“Snap! Poe! Oh, I wanna see B.B.!” you cried as Poe ricochet around the room.

“B.B.’s gonna be thrilled,” Snap laughed, “but Karé and I have gotten pretty attached.”

”Tough shit, we’re getting our dog back!” Poe suddenly he stopped short in front of the door- which was still sealed. “Soooo... When are we actually being let out?”

 

—-

 

Fingers skimming the edges of the bookcase, Poe took in the much-missed sight of the apartment. Your pottery wheel. His Cuban flag mug on the sink with a sticky ring of cafe con leche at the bottom. The kintsugi with its gilded scar tissue. Al Udeid was a nondescript expanse of sand, certainly a far cry from the creeks and magnolia tree forts of his youth, but this was the home Poe wanted to bring Baaligh into: warm, comforting, personal. Everything the hospital wasn’t. Poe intended to get his family out of Qatar as soon as he was afforded any non-cowardly opportunity, but this would do for a while.

There he was. Already considering Baaligh his son. Again.

Snap would be by later to drop off B.B., but there remained a sliver of morning that belonged only to you. It’d be a shame to let that go to waste, after two months without privacy.

“I gotta get these clothes and hospital smell off.”

Silently inviting you to follow, Poe stripped off his shirt. Gashes on his forearm had been stitched but were now completely healed. Ash and dust had long since been rinsed from his skin, but the preemptive goodbyes whispered to each other would forever echo in his ears. Sometimes he could still taste them in his mouth. The shower’s water rinsed away the topsoil layer of pain, and you soaped each other up with loving care.

It was unclear if trauma transformed him into someone new each time or if the painful experiences only stripped away any artifice- but Poe knew this iteration of himself loved this iteration of you. Whatever trauma burdened or stole from him, he understood that truth.

Wrapped loosely in a towel, you dried your hair on the bed while Poe stood. Simply watching. He didn’t want to take anything for granted, having been reminded so harshly of life’s fragility. Goosebumps prickled at the nape of your neck as Poe trailed a fingertip across your jaw, beginning a cautious seduction.

Exploring the details of your face, Poe scattered light kisses across its topography. Sultry breath hovered over your lips, warmth shared in the short distance. One little spark could bridge that gap, a tiny arc of light and energy shared between two bodies. Two souls. With a delicious moan, he finally connected with your mouth. Asking for more, you deepened the kiss, sucking the tip of his tongue. Immediately Poe’s cock strained upward in desperate jealousy.

Closed eyes, damp hair. You’d picked bits of broken glass out of his curls not so long ago- but you were safe now. Safe in each other’s arms. Home.

“Look at me.”

It wasn’t a command. Nor was it begged. A simple request. Poe was there. Beautiful and vulnerable. Yours. Poe asked you as an equal because you were equals. Because he knew you weren’t just appreciating his body: you were seeing him.

Both towels dropped away as a spark ignited between you. Pebbling in the honeyed morning light, your nipples responded to the air. He was fully hard now, suckling a nipple while exploratory hands traveled south. Beads of water sparkled on Poe’s waves- much longer now with the passage of time- tickling your skin as he teased the sensitive nerves. Over the faded scar. Lower.

“We don’t- mmmphh- we don’t have enough time.”

”You’re absolutely right,” Poe murmured as your nails gently raked across his bare ass. No going back now. “So let’s make the most of it...”

Hooking a finger under the thin chain at his neck, you guided Poe to your lips. “Get over here, Flyboy.”

Hands pressed over your curves, attempting to slough away the pain of the last weeks. Kisses resumed softly, building momentum in the form of squirming hips. Poe knew how it felt to be powerful in the sky, weak on the ground. He understood duality. Sex shared that duality: sinful and sublime, loving and lustful. The continuum fascinated him- and he wanted both.

Licking down your fluttering pulse, Poe knelt against the foot of the bed, and then tugged your legs over his shoulders. Indescribably soft strokes. Fingers hooked into his hair like reigns. Deliberate, deep laps. Back arched, you writhed against his chin, each squirm validating his efforts. After lavishing you with attention, Poe slowly ran his tongue across his glistening mouth and lifted a brow in playful appreciation. “Requisimo.” _Very good_.

Velveteen sweetness caused your laugh to fade into a throaty groan as he guided the head of his cock against the slippery notch.

Not yet.

Another teasing pass. As he pulled back, a sticky line of arousal stretched between you. “Haven’t we waited long enough?”

Poe winked and caressed the thigh hooked around his waist. “So impatient. I thought you liked a little tease?” Testing even his own limits, he drug his length between the puffy lips again- the heat radiating between them threatened to burn him to cinders. The desperation on your face was worth it, though.

“You know what I like. But don’t have time for all that,” you pouted. “We still have to—“

“Please? I just wanna savor it a little.” He studied you with a type of reverence of a man who’d just stepped into a sacred place. Sex could surely be an act of worship, and transcend mere temporal pleasure. Supple and splayed out before him, you regarded each other through hooded eyes as he ran the soft head up and down. “So gorgeous. You have no idea how good the view is from here. And I know a thing or two about views. The view over Japan was just incredible. Mt. Fuji...”

”Poe.”

“...the desert can be pretty, though, when you’re above it and not actually in it. Especially in the moonlight. I wish I could show you...”

”Show me, then.” The bite in your words meant you weren’t talking about aerial landscapes.

”Oh, I’ll show you something alright.”

Poe’s subtle smirk took over the remainder of his face. Bright and playful. Joyful. Eyes gleaming, he flipped a clump of errand curls from his forehead then penetrated you slowly with a shift of his hips. Shuddering as he sunk deeper, your legs constricted around him. Poe’s chestnut eyes smoldered as he gave you exactly what you both needed. Snug and deliciously wet. From this position, Poe could watch himself disappear into the space between your thighs while mewls fueled him on. Seizing a leg, he pumped deep, building your orgasm thrust by thrust. Surged upward as Poe curled forward, you locked together in a sweltering kiss.

Skin searing with heat, his soft words and moist kisses might just evaporate right off. Under his breath, he whispered your name. Then moaned it. Loud. That heady feeling was coming, and Poe was desperate for more contact as his climax closed in like a MiG-28.

Gaining altitude.

Higher.

Higher.

“Not yet,” your humid breath curled into his ear. He was about to come when you uncoupled. Transitioning to hands and knees, you eagerly wrapped your mouth around the shaft and bobbed. Poe’s mind went straight back into the clouds. Burning eye contact paired with your delicate mouth was a juxtaposition that always made his pulse jump. Now that was a lovely view.

His fingers laced into your hair as you sucked him clean, popping off with an ‘I need you’ demanded through swollen lips. Before he could fully enjoy his mid-sex blowjob, you pushed back into him, impaling yourself with a salacious moan. Maintaining his languid pace, Poe positioned you for the deepest penetration, filling you entirely. Watching over your shoulder, you cried out as Poe’s hand blurred in vibration across your clit. Biting your shoulder, he babbled a string of praise.

“Corazón, feels so— Oh, I love y— Ohhh... ohh!”

“Love you so—“ Undulating in pleasure, you gasped his name with a few additional _oh_ ’s as your words melted into a whimper. Fists twisted into the sheets as a blinding climax shook your senses. Poe rubbed the little nub with so much friction, it was a surprise you didn’t come in a plume of smoke. Close behind, Poe pulled you to your knees on the mattress with your back against his chest to maximize skin-to-skin as the creamy flood from your orgasm coated his length. Caressing your jostling breasts, Poe let himself get lost. In the chemistry of your bodies. In the depth of the moment. Immersed in your love.

Tenderly, Poe’s hand slid up your chest, across your clavicle and throat from behind. Seeking the softness of your mouth. Sucking and moaning around his index finger, you clenched around his cock in a quivering aftershock. With a final series of thrusts, he finally allowed the pleasure to consume him. An inferno. Grunting against your ear, he emptied himself between your thighs.

As the embers died down, you tumbled back off your knees together and Poe pulled you on top of him. Gazing up in adoration, he panted, “I needed that. I needed you.”

”We need each other.” Your answer was punctuated by ragged gasps. Gasps of bliss and not terror as your head nested against his shoulder. "I can't believe we're home."

”Me either,” Poe smiled softly. “That was perfect. You're perfect.”

If not for your sex intoxication, you'd have blushed, but instead you regarded Poe with a contented hum. He was glad to be free but he wasn’t ready to face the rest the world yet. If he was being completely honest with himself, he’d admit he really wasn’t ready for you to face the world again yet either. But he’d done enough waiting.

You nipped the fleshy lobe of his ear before getting up to rinse off again and don a simple sheath dress. Canary yellow.

Poe could see it again when he blinked: your scarf among the debris. As you styled your hair, Poe promised himself he’d associate the color with hope- not the horror he felt finding it. Baaligh thought of the sun when he saw it, wiggling fingers like solar rays. Light to counter the darkness. A star to guide him.

“Hermosa.” _Beautiful_. Poe complimented as he pulled on his dress blues and attempted to tame the curls that had grown far past regulation in the last weeks. Shit. He’d have to get a haircut immediately, as in before the press conference immediately. He shook out his posture, bouncing from one foot to the other as he checked the clock. “Are up ready for this?”

“I think I am.”

 


End file.
